


Best Laid Plans

by persephone_stone



Series: Best Laid Plans [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Ginny Weasley/Original Male Character, Birthday Fluff, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healthy Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Marriage, Pregnancy, Romance, Sexual Content, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings, blended families - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_stone/pseuds/persephone_stone
Summary: Hermione Granger has her life all planned out. Then an unexpected night of passion with Draco Malfoy leads her to realize that following her heart is the only plan she needs.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Best Laid Plans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746049
Comments: 351
Kudos: 782





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fic EVER, and was only edited by me, so please be gentle. :)
> 
> The title comes from the quotation: "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."
> 
> If you'd like to get a glimpse of this world, find me on [Tumblr](https://persephonestone.tumblr.com/) and [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/persephonestone2/).
> 
> Also, please check out [this beautiful piece of art](https://avendell.tumblr.com/post/621010407669301248/commission-for-the-lovely-persephonestone-its-a) by Avendell from Chapter One, and follow her on Tumblr and Instagram!
> 
> And finally: this fic has now been translated into Russian! Read chapter one [here](%E2%80%9C).

Hermione sat on the pale blue tile of her bathroom floor, forehead pressed to her knees. Her vision blurred with tears as she stared at the two little pink lines that appeared on the muggle pregnancy test at her feet—the same result that the other five tests, two diagnostic charms, and one very late period had already confirmed.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant. 

Hermione Jean Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age and one-third of the famed Golden Trio, war heroine from the Battle of Hogwarts, earner of O’s on every NEWT taken during 8th year, modern witch who knew exactly how reproduction worked and had always taken great pride in being responsible and sensible and careful now found herself, an unmarried woman of almost 29, pregnant.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered to herself, threading her fingers through her mass of brown curls. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she repeated, already dreading what came next. She had to tell the father. He deserved to know about the baby—the _baby_ , her mind echoed unhelpfully—although she felt sick to her stomach at the thought of breaking the news to him. 

As a matter of fact—yes, she was definitely going to be sick. She crawled toward the toilet, barely arriving in time to lift the lid before the meager contents of her stomach came rushing up and out. She dry heaved a few more times, then reached one shaking hand up to flush the sick down the bowl. When she felt able, she stood and rinsed her mouth at the pedestal sink next to the toilet, then splashed some cool water on her face for good measure. Raising her head, she looked at herself in the mirror. 

Her reflection stared back at her, looking haunted. A million thoughts raced through her head—all her plans for her life suddenly upended. 

“How could you be so stupid?” she asked herself, although there was no sting behind the words. She knew exactly how…

**_Six weeks earlier…_**

Fairy lights twinkled in the trees that ringed the gardens of Longbottom House, where two hundred guests had gathered to celebrate the Parkinson-Longbottom wedding. 

Hermione watched the happy couple as they strolled hand-in-hand to each of the reception tables, thanking friends and family for coming to celebrate their union, stopping periodically to steal a kiss or grin like idiots at each other.

If someone had told Hermione during their time at Hogwarts that one day the Slytherin Queen of Mean and the forgetful, shy Gryffindor would end up madly in love and hosting the wedding of the century, she would have assumed—no, been sure—that they had been confunded. 

And yet, she knew better than most that people could change. That who someone was as a child or teenager was not who they had to be for the rest of their lives. 

Tilting her champagne flute to her lips, Hermione caught a flash of white blonde hair in her periphery. _Speaking of people who have changed_ , she thought with a smile.

Draco Malfoy, once her childhood tormentor and object of her loathing, had become an unexpected friend. After the war, she had testified on his behalf at his Wizengamot trial, and voluntarily served as both his and Theo Nott’s court-appointed sponsor for the Ministry’s muggle education program for former Death Eaters and You-Know-Who sympathizers—at least, the ones who had managed to avoid a sentence in Azkaban. 

Over the course of the program’s year, she had taught them about muggle history and literature and music, taken them shopping in muggle London, introduced them to the joys of driving muggle cars, and most surprisingly—come to enjoy their company. Long after their probationary period was up, they spent time together, meeting up with friends for dinner or drinks or a bit of muggle theatre. 

Hermione had been given a second chance to get to know Draco through the program and subsequent years of friendship. Not as the sneering, spoiled snob that he’d been at school, but rather as the man he’d worked hard to become. She appreciated his sharp mind, especially since it was no longer being used to make life miserable for her and her friends. He was funny, and loyal, and handsome enough to make her heart beat a bit faster when he aimed a genuine smile in her direction—usually after successfully winding her up by accusing her of making up a world war— _“Come off it Granger. The entire bloody muggle world didn’t go to war with each other once, let alone TWICE!”_

Yet no matter how handsome she thought he was, how often he flirted, or how many times she caught him staring at her with a hungry, yearning look in his eyes, their relationship had always been platonic. She knew that he no longer held the blood prejudices of his past, and she had forgiven him long ago for his childhood cruelty, but she was afraid. Afraid that if she took that next step—if she followed her heart and body instead of her mind—that she would lose him completely if things didn’t work out. 

So as she watched him stalk over to the bar and signal for a glass of fire whiskey, she could appreciate the broadness of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist and hips. She could inwardly sigh as he ran one of his long-fingered hands absently through the hair at the nape of his neck. She could silently hex the drunken witch who pushed her breasts against his arm as she leaned into him and ordered her own drink. But she wouldn’t act on any of that. No, no, no. 

Dating Draco Malfoy was _not_ in her plans. 

He turned, catching her gaze and silently raising his glass in a toast, which she returned before draining the last of her champagne. 

“Oh, just put us all out of our bloody misery, Granger,” came a voice from her left. She turned, face splitting into a genuine smile at the sight of Theo Nott lounging in the vacant seat next to her at the head table. 

As close friends of the bride and groom, Hermione, Draco, and Theo were all members of the wedding party, as were Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, and Daphne Greengrass. But as dinner had long since been served and the bar was open, all of the others had abandoned the table in favor of drinking and dancing. 

Ron was currently spinning Ginny around the outdoor dance floor, their red hair flashing like fire in the light of hundreds of floating lanterns. It might have been awkward for most people to be in the same wedding party as their exes, but Harry and Hermione were not most people. Time and the genuine love they all felt for one another prevented any bad blood. 

Ron and Hermione hadn’t been together since their brief summer relationship after the Battle of Hogwarts, realizing that what they felt for one another was more like the love shared between siblings rather than lovers. Ron was now happily married to Luna Lovegood, whose pale blonde hair could be seen off to the side of the dance floor, twisted into an elaborate topknot that matched the one on their two year old daughter Juno’s head. Luna smiled as she watched her husband and sister-in-law dancing, her hand resting on the swell of her stomach under the sage-colored chiffon of the bridesmaid gowns they all wore. Soon there would be another Lovegood-Weasley in the world, and the world would be better for it. 

Harry and Ginny were a perfect example of a modern family—happily co-parenting their son, James, despite being divorced for nearly four years now. They both agreed that they had rushed into marriage after the war, then stayed together because their relationship felt safe and familiar. But neither of them had been truly happy or felt the kind of passionate love one wants for a lifetime, so they had amicably separated yet remained good friends. Ginny had recently remarried, but Harry—currently carrying 5 year old James on his shoulders around the perimeter of the reception area—devoted his time to being the best father and Auror he could be.

Tearing her gaze away from her dearest friends, Hermione rolled her eyes at Theo. “What are you on about now, Nott?”

He leaned forward, his artfully disheveled hair falling into his eyes. “Come now, Granger. You think you’re smarter than most everyone else in this room, and that may be true,” here he extended a finger, poking at her nose until she swatted his hand away. “But you’re not smarter than me. I see you. I see you both,” he added, grinning a Cheshire cat grin. 

When she told him as much, he scoffed. “Please. I’m not a demented cat. That is an insult to both me and Crookshanks, may he rest in peace.”

“Yes, may he,” Hermione responded with a smile, pushing to her feet and extending a hand. “Would you like to dance, dear Theo?”

“Why, sweet Hermione, I thought you’d never ask.” Theo stood, taking her hand as they made their way to the dance floor. 

The music was fast and fun, and Hermione soon became dizzy after being spun like a top by Theo, Ron, and Ginny in quick succession. The four glasses of champagne she’d had over the course of the reception probably hadn’t helped, either. 

The amplified voice of Dean Thomas, unofficial master of ceremonies of the reception, broke into their revelry. “Witches and wizards, please help us welcome the newlyweds to the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife! Raise your glasses and your wands in a toast to Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom!”

A slow, romantic song began as Neville led Pansy to the dance floor, the other dancers moving back to give them room. Wands were raised to provide a glowing circle of light around the couple, who may as well have been completely alone for all the attention they paid to anyone else. Neville’s hands stroked the bare skin of Pansy’s back as her fingers moved from his shoulders to twine in the hair at his nape. Their eyes never left one another’s, and as the song went on, their bodies moved closer, pulled together like magnets until they were flush, foreheads touching. 

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from her vision as she watched them dance, so obviously in love that it made her chest ache. As the song changed and Dean’s voice invited others to join in the dancing, a monogrammed handkerchief appeared in front of her, held by an elegant, long-fingered hand. 

“Here, Granger,” Draco’s voice murmured from just behind her ear, warm breath stirring the wispy curls that fell from her elaborate updo. 

She accepted the handkerchief and closed her eyes briefly before turning, mentally steeling herself for the effect his silver gaze always had on her. 

_Damn_ , she thought, doing everything in her power to prevent herself from licking her lips at the sight of him in his bespoke tuxedo. Okay, maybe Theo was more observant than she’d like to give him credit for. Maybe her desire to keep things platonic was just a lie she told herself. And maybe Hermione Granger, daughter of muggles, was in love with Draco Malfoy, pureblood prince. 

“Fancy a dance with me, Granger?” he asked with a wink, as if he knew exactly how good he looked and the effect it was having on her. 

Hermione pretended to look boredly around the room. “Oh, I suppose you’ll do,” she replied, slipping her hand into his. 

He led her to the dance floor and pulled her close, swaying in time with the music. “Try to keep up,” he murmured in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“I’ll do my best,” she replied, allowing herself to meet his gaze for a moment before tearing her eyes away. 

“You always do,” he said softly, the fingers at her waist tightening almost imperceptibly. 

Behind them, they heard whoops and cheers. Draco spun them to see what the fuss was about, only to find Pansy and Neville exploring each others’ tonsils with their tongues, Neville’s hands glued firmly to Pansy’s lace-covered bum. 

“Oh my,” Hermione laughed, dropping her forehead to Draco’s shoulder as he lifted a hand to wolf whistle at the pair. 

His grin quickly turned into a full-throated laugh as Pansy made a rude gesture in his direction. 

The slow song came to an end, and an up-tempo one started up in its place. Draco tightened his grip on Hermione’s hand, pulling her close and then pushing her out to spin and twirl with him. Curls fell around her bare shoulders as her hair slowly slipped from its pins, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. 

She saw Ron dancing with Juno in his arms, her fingers clamped tight around his ears as she shrieked with glee, Luna laughing as her arms encircled both of them. She saw Ginny dancing with James, both of them giggling when she picked him up and swung him in a wide circle. She saw Theo and Daphne, best friends since birth, doing an elaborately choreographed routine. Daphne’s long, honey-blonde hair whipped around as she moved, accidentally hitting Harry square in the face. “Sorry, Potter!” she called cheerfully, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder. He flushed, but waved off her apology. 

Hermione saw all this, and then again, right in front of her, she saw Draco. Handsome, laughing, holding her hand. She could do little more than grin stupidly at him, feeling that all was right in the world at that precise moment. 

“Is this dance part of my birthday present?” he asked, ruining the moment she’d been having as he waggled his eyebrows at her. “It’s bad enough that I have to share my 28th birthday with Pansy and Neville’s Merlin-sanctified matrimony, but the thought of going one more second without dancing with my best friend was just becoming too much to bear,” he finished dramatically, pulling her in close again, their hips moving together to the beat of the music. 

Hermione smiled innocently at him as she tilted her head toward Theo and Daphne, who were now leading an improvised wizard’s conga line around Neville and Pansy. “Did you want to go join Theo now, then?”

“Ha, ha, Granger. You wound me. Theo is my oldest friend, but you know damn well that _you_ are my best friend.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought, then added, “And Theo refuses to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-runs with me on the muggle telly, so really I don’t know that he even qualifies as a friend.”

“Are you drunk?” she replied with a laugh, noticing for the first time that his gaze was a bit unfocused and his hands were wandering more than his usual iron control allowed. Her heartbeat tripped in her chest. 

“A bit,” he replied, leaning down to speak directly into her ear and almost losing his balance. “Like I said: birthday, hate sharing, wanted to dance with you.”

Hermione smiled, patting his cheek before taking his hand and pulling him away from the dance floor. “I do have a birthday present for you, actually,” she told him as they weaved through the wedding guests, heading back toward the head table where she had left her beaded bag. 

She pulled her wand from its hiding place in the bodice of her dress, quickly performing a summoning spell into the depths of her purse before sliding the wand back between her breasts. 

Catching an envelope that had Draco’s name written on the front, she looped the bag around her wrist and raised her eyes to meet Draco’s. He was standing with a completely uncharacteristic slack-jawed expression on his face, staring at her with an open mouth. “Shit, Granger,” he croaked, clearing his throat before continuing. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Well now I know you’re drunk, because that can’t possibly be true,” Hermione sniffed. “Now come along if you want your present.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied immediately, hurrying behind her as she left the reception gardens and headed toward the folly at the back of the Longbottom property. 

The folly had been charmed with hundreds and hundreds of flowers; roses and peonies and orchids winding around each of the four pillars and circling the domed roof overhead. The heady perfume surrounded them, providing a refuge from the raucous sounds of dancing and celebration they’d left behind. 

Hermione turned to face Draco, holding out the envelope for him to take. “Happy Birthday, Draco,” she said quietly.

He stepped right up into her space, fingers brushing hers as he took the envelope. He held her gaze for a moment before looking down, breaking the seal and sliding out the bit of parchment. He read in silence for a moment while Hermione squirmed, nervous now that she had given it to him. 

“What is this, Hermione?” he asked in a low voice. 

She twisted her fingers together, fidgeting a bit as she rushed to explain. “It’s a star. This muggle science organization lets you name a recently-discovered star in exchange for a donation. So I named one after your father...Lucius,” she added unnecessarily. “Now he has a star in the sky, like you.”

Draco had lost his father just over a year ago. Lucius had served time in Azkaban after the war, and was never the same upon his release. Once a striking, intimidating figure, he had emerged from Azkaban’s walls a shell of his former self: gaunt, haunted, broken. 

Yet despite his physical decline, his relationship with Draco had never been stronger. Gone were the pureblood expectations, the disapproval, the lack of affection. In their place was the only thing that should have been there all along: love. Draco still deeply mourned his loss. 

“I also got you some books,” she added when he continued to just stare silently at the paper, rushing to fill the awkward silence and hoping she hadn’t overstepped. “It’s just that you’re very hard to buy for, as you have everything you could ever want, and I—“ she broke off as he raised his head, eyes blazing as they locked with her own. “I just wanted to do something special for you,” she finished in a whisper. 

“Granger,” he started, stopping to clear his throat when his voice cracked. “Hermione. This is—I am...Thank you.”

She smiled, stepping forward to embrace him. His arms came around her immediately, crushing her to him as he buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply as he fought to get his emotions under control. 

Hermione wasn’t sure how much time passed before he finally lifted his head, pulling back just enough to tuck the parchment inside his tuxedo jacket. Removing her wand once more, she whispered an incantation and pointed, directing Draco’s attention to the night sky over their heads. 

A thin beam of light made its way upward, heading north over the reception gardens and manor house to circle the newly-named star. 

She looked up at his face as he gazed at the stars, memorizing the location of his father’s instantly. “I can’t wait to show my mother,” he said softly, once again involuntarily flexing his hands at Hermione’s waist. 

At this, Hermione blushed. “She may, um, already know,” she began, “I may or may not have discussed the idea with her over tea last month.”

“Ah,” Draco responded, gazing at her with a fondness that made her insides melt. “Of course you did.”

Belatedly realizing that they were still standing close together, arms wound around each other, Hermione made to pull away and return to the party. But Draco held on, arms like iron bands around her upper body. 

“Stay?” he asked softly, gray eyes meeting hers almost shyly. “Let me have one more dance, please?”

Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione nodded once, moving in to sway gently with Draco to the soft strains of music that could faintly be heard across the lawns. 

It seemed obvious that a wedding between witches and wizards would have its fair share of magic, but there was a special kind of magic here. It was the scent of flowers and sounds of a violin. It was the darkness of the night and the brightness of the stars. It was the feel of his hands slowly moving up and down her back, the smell of his cologne as she rested her head against his chest. It was the freedom from doubt and hesitation that came with several glasses of champagne and fire whiskey. 

“It has been such a lovely day,” Hermione said softly, lowering her hand to Draco’s chest, where she could feel his heartbeat thumping steadily through the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m so happy for Pansy and Neville.”

Draco was silent for so long that Hermione lifted her head, searching his face. He looked conflicted, an internal battle written plainly across his face. 

“Draco?” she whispered, “Is everything alright?”

His eyes dropped to hers, and he seemed to come to a decision. He laughed shortly, without any humor. “Well, Granger, as a matter of fact,” he began, dropping his hands from their exploration of her hip bones and pushing them into his hair. He stepped back. “No. Everything is not alright.”

“I—“ she started, but he raised a hand, silently asking for her to wait. She closed her mouth and gestured for him to continue. 

“Today is my birthday,” he began, sounding a bit sulky. “It’s my birthday, and I had to spend it getting dressed up with Potter and Weasley,” he continued, conveniently leaving Theo and Neville out of the equation. 

“Then I had to stand outdoors in the bloody hot late afternoon sun, because the bloody universe saw fit not to rain in bloody England for one bloody day in the history of all the bloody days,” he continued, starting to pace. “ _Then_ I had to watch you come down the aisle with your hair and your flowers and your dress and your—” here he broke off and gestured wildly at her person before resuming his pacing. 

“And _then_ I had to pretend not to cry during the perfectly lovely wedding vows between one of my dearest friends and her surprisingly likeable new husband, all while simultaneously feeling like throwing myself down on the ground and having a proper tantrum at just how fucking unfair life can be,” he finished, breathing heavily. 

“Unfair?” she asked, having a hard time following his shifting mood. 

He shot her an incredulous look, as if to ask her to please not be so stupid, thank you very much. “Yes, unfair,” he answered, coming to a stop. “Look at all our friends. Getting married, having children, being happy.”

That long-fingered hand reached out, tracing gently over her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, which made his breath catch in his throat. “But what about us?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Us?” she echoed, not trusting herself to say more.

“Why can’t we have that?” His fingers were sliding down her neck now, playing with the loose curls he found there. “Why can’t I be good enough for you?” he whispered brokenly.

Hermione no longer felt the effects of the champagne. A different kind of intoxication was working its way into her bloodstream, making her nerves tingle and pulse pound.

“Are you crazy?” she managed, sending her own fingers on an exploration of his sharp jaw, sliding them up into the silvery hair at his temples, holding his head tightly between her hands to ensure he was paying attention. “You may be a lot of things, Draco Malfoy, but I won’t tolerate you thinking you’re not good enough for _anyone_ , let alone me.”

He looked up at her through his lashes, eyes shining with something hot and heady. “My fierce lioness,” he murmured. 

“Do you want me to be?” she asked before her brain could stop her. “Yours?” she continued, shivering at the way his fingers clamped down on her shoulders, as if he’d never let her go. “Would you risk losing this—our friendship—if things didn’t work out?”

Draco slid one hand up to cup her jaw, the other down to snake around her waist. “For you,” he responded, tilting her face up until their lips were a mere breath apart, “I’d risk _everything_.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She raised herself up onto her toes, closing the distance between their lips and finally— _finally_ —ending the torturous dance they’d been performing for years. She had a brief moment of insanity where she imagined Theo’s face when he found out, but then Draco’s tongue slipped between her lips and she could think no more. 

The kiss grew deeper and wilder with every passing second, until they were both moaning and gasping for breath. She clung to his shoulders as he cupped her arse through her dress, dragging his lips from hers to kiss and suck his way across her cheek, over her ear, down her neck. 

When she moved to suck his earlobe between her lips, he jumped in surprise and then groaned, pulling her hips flush against his. She relished the feel of the hardness inside his trousers, in the knowledge that he was coming undone at her hands. 

“ _Fuck_ , Hermione,” he rasped, returning his attention to her neck, nibbling across her collarbone before brazenly burying his face in the swells of her breasts. He hooked a finger into the sweetheart neckline of her dress, pulling the fabric down slowly until one nipple sprang free. He stopped for a moment, breathing harshly as he stared at her bare breast. Her chest heaved with the force of her own breathing, fingers twisting in anticipation into his pale hair. 

“Tell me to stop,” he groaned, using a supreme effort to tear his gaze away from her breast and look into her eyes. “Tell me to stop now, and I will.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed, her legendary bravery and stubbornness rising to the surface. “Don’t you dare,” she breathed, pushing her breast into his hand and pulling his lips to hers once more.

He shuddered, swallowing her moan as he rolled her nipple between his fingers, sending electricity shooting from the tip of her breast down to her core. She could feel wet heat pooling in her knickers, and squirmed against him to try to find relief from the tension coiling inside her body.

Scooping his other arm underneath her arse, he lifted her and walked them backwards, coming to rest against one of the folly’s pillars. He pushed up against her, grinding his erection into her belly until she opened her legs and he shifted to settle between them. They both gasped at the contact, foreheads touching, hands holding on for dear life.

Draco swooped down to capture her nipple between his lips, first licking gently and then sucking, increasing the pressure until Hermione was clutching his head to her breast, grinding helplessly against him as she panted and whimpered. He released her breast with a wet pop, then pulled down the other side of her bodice with his teeth, laving the newly-exposed nipple with his tongue until she was out of her mind with want.

His hands slid up the bare skin of her legs, shifting her skirts out of the way until he was able to fill both palms with the silk-covered globes of her arse. He pulled his hips away from her just a fraction, smiling at the moan of protest she gave before she felt his fingers exploring the wetness between her legs.

“Oh, gods,” she breathed, feeling him rub his thumb across her clit. He pulled her knickers to the side, sliding one finger, then two against the slippery folds, ratcheting the tension higher with every touch. 

He withdrew his fingers completely, lifting them to his lips to suck them deep into his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head at the taste of her juices on his skin. Hermione had never seen anything more erotic. Then his hand was disappearing back between her legs, fingers sliding deep inside her, curling to touch that special place she could never reach by herself. His thumb rubbed firmly against her clit until she exploded, crying out his name as she came undone. 

Before she could recover, she heard a crack, felt her body being pulled through space—his fingers still inside her—and the next thing she knew, they were in Draco’s assigned guest bedroom in Longbottom House. 

She barely had time to notice her surroundings before Draco was on her again, withdrawing his fingers to steady her on her feet before capturing her lips with his. As they frantically worked on undressing each other, fragmented whispers escaped between kisses. 

“Wanted this for so long—” he said, struggling with the zipper on her dress before remembering that he was, in fact, a wizard and employing a bit of (quite impressive) wandless magic to send it pooling at her feet. 

“—gods, so have I,” she panted, yanking his tie off and working the buttons open on his shirt, a task made more difficult by the fact that his mouth was attached to hers. 

“You have no idea— _Merlin_ ” he breathed as she darted her hand down to grope him through his trousers, “what you do to me,” he finished, moving to unbuckle his belt and push his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles. 

She smiled against his mouth, tangling their fingers together and pulling him back toward the bed, laughing when his feet got caught in his clothes and he had to pause, kicking furiously until he was free. 

He finally stood naked in front of her, looking like the carved marble statues she’d seen in museums while on holiday with her parents as a teenager, although with quite a significant bit more to make her blush resting between his muscled legs. 

She bit her lip, feeling shy as his eyes raked over her body. He reached out to smooth his hand across her chest, letting it come to rest briefly over her heart before sliding down her belly and into the waistband of her knickers, giving them a gentle tug that sent them to the floor. 

They stared into each other’s eyes, searching for answers, savoring the moment. 

Finally, Draco broke the tension. “I can’t believe this is real,” he whispered, pulling her toward him gently until their naked bodies were pressed together from chest to thigh. “I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Her slender arms slid up his muscled ones, gripping his shoulders as she lifted herself onto her toes, rubbing sensually against him. “I don’t want to wait a second longer,” she murmured into his ear, before grabbing his jaw with both hands and kissing him desperately. 

They tumbled onto the bed, tongues tangling and bodies writhing. Hermione reached between them, fisting her hand around his cock, rubbing him through her wetness before lining him up at her entrance.

He cursed, squeezing his eyes closed and taking several ragged breaths. He raised a gentle hand to her face, smoothing her curls back with a tenderness that made her heart squeeze in her chest. “Are you ready?” he asked softly. 

She nodded, wrapping her arms around him and lifting her hips. 

With one smooth glide, he buried himself inside of her. They both froze, eyes glazed over and breathing unsteady. Draco recovered first, beginning to move in a steady rhythm of deep, hard thrusts.

She rolled her hips in time with him, pulling a moan from deep inside his chest. With just a few more strokes, she felt that delicious tension start to rise deep within her again, inner walls beginning to flutter around his cock. 

“Oh, gods,” he panted into her ear, doubling the speed of his thrusts as her eyes rolled back in her head. 

“Yes, yes, yes, right there Draco, unnnnhh—” she cried, not knowing if it came out as a whisper or a scream, not caring as she felt herself hurtle over the edge of the most intense orgasm of her life. 

Distantly, she felt his body stiffen as he came, felt the hot spurt of his seed deep inside her, felt him moan her name into her hair, now loose on the pillow from their exertions. 

When their breathing slowed and heart rates returned to a more normal speed, Draco rolled to the side, pulling Hermione with him and arranging their limbs so she was snuggled into his chest, her leg draped over his hip to accommodate where he was still joined with her. 

Fingers skated over bare skin, followed by lips and soft words spoken in the darkness. Moonlight and the faint sounds of music and laughter from the ongoing party below drifted softly through the window, and as they were lulled to sleep by the warmth of each other’s skin and the quiet sound of each other’s heartbeats, the stars shone brightly above them. 

**_Present..._**

Hermione made her way into the small kitchen of her flat, waving her wand to start the tea. She went to her desk, pulling out ink and parchment and scribbling a quick note, which she sent off with her owl before she could lose her nerve. 

_Draco,_

_I need to speak to you. Right away. Please._

_-Hermione_

Oh, fuck, she thought once more, just as the kettle on the stove began to shriek.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets some life-changing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments about the first chapter! Please enjoy chapter two, and leave a comment and kudos if you're so inclined. :)
> 
> You can also check out my tumblr (@persephonestone) and Pinterest (https://pin.it/5POPNX9) if you'd like some visuals to go with your reading.

Hermione’s foot tapped nervously against the table leg as she waited for Draco’s response. 

Things had not gone the way she’d expected since that night six weeks ago. 

The night itself had been unforgettable. It had stretched, one hour blending into the next as they moved between sleep and sex. She had lost count of how many times they made love, how many times they fucked hard and fast, how many times she came, and obviously, how many times she forgot to perform a contraception charm. 

The next morning, she had slipped from Draco’s bed, quietly gathering her clothes, bag, and wand before apparating into her own bedroom to bathe and dress. 

When she finally came downstairs, Draco was already there, sitting at the long dining table between Luna and Theo, little Juno on his lap eating strawberries off his plate. 

Hermione quickly made herself a plate from the buffet lining the sideboard, then took the open seat between Harry and Daphne. 

With the exception of Luna, who wasn’t drinking due to her pregnancy, the entire wedding party looked a bit worse for the wear. Bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, white-knuckled grips on mugs of tea and coffee and hangover potion. Even Neville and Pansy looked a bit knackered, though that may have been more from their wedding night shenanigans than alcohol. 

Hermione squirmed in her seat at the memory of her own shenanigans, risking a glance toward Draco to gauge his thoughts. Did he want the others to know anything? What came next, exactly?

He was looking back at her, silver eyes calm and expression unreadable. He slowly raised one eyebrow, and she felt her cheeks heat in a blush. 

“What’s wrong with everybody?” James asked loudly from his place at the head of the table, mouth stuffed full of scrambled eggs and toast. 

At his side, Harry groaned, letting his head drop onto the table next to his untouched plate. “We’re just tired, James,” he responded, voice muffled. “Tired and our heads hurt.”

James shrugged, accepting the explanation before happily devouring three sausages in quick succession. Ginny watched him, looking a bit green around the gills before quickly standing and excusing herself. 

“Don’t puke on my Persian rug!” Pansy called after her, looking dreamily up at Neville from her perch on his lap. He kissed her cheek as he reached across her to pour himself another cup of coffee. 

“Alright, Hermione?” he asked pleasantly, shuddering as Pansy’s tongue disappeared inside of his ear. “Hang on, love,” he whispered to his wife, returning his attention apologetically to Hermione. Seconds later, his eyes bulged as one of Pansy’s hands disappeared beneath the table, her arm moving sinuously as she fondled her husband’s cock through his trousers. 

Ron gasped, reaching across Luna to shield Juno’s eyes. Seeing that Harry still had his head down and was unaware of the pornographic acts being performed at the breakfast table, Daphne jumped up, simultaneously shooting Pansy a dirty look and beckoning to James. 

She took the boy’s hand, moving in front of him to block Pansy and Neville. “James, do you think you could come show me where you saw those bowtruckles last night? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one up close,” she lied. James, who was obsessed with all creatures great and small, immediately lit up at the idea of going in search of one. “Maybe Auntie Luna and baby Juno want to come?” Daphne tossed over her shoulder, to which Luna nodded and reached for her daughter. 

Juno, still enjoying her seat on Draco’s lap—and access to his plate—pouted at her mother. “Come now, my little hippogriff,” Luna teased, tickling Juno gently beneath the chin until she giggled and relented. 

When the children had left the room, Theo pushed his now-empty plate away, yawning loudly. “Well, my friends,” he began, stretching his arms over his head in a way that reminded Hermione once again of a cat, “Yesterday was perfect. I would say I’ve never been to a nicer wedding, but I don’t want to offend Ron and Luna.”

“Oi,” Harry said to the tablecloth. “Ginny and I had a wedding, too.”

“Divorced; doesn’t count,” Theo sing-songed, laughing as Harry extended his middle finger in Theo’s direction. 

Ron chewed thoughtfully for a moment, finishing the last of his blueberry pancakes. “No offense taken,” he finally said, “their wedding was definitely nicer than ours.”

Pansy preened, momentarily pausing in the act of giving Neville a handjob to enjoy the compliment. 

Theo laughed, then turned with laser focus to Hermione. “Did you have a nice night, Granger?” he asked innocently. 

Having been in the middle of a sip of tea, she choked. “Quite,” she sputtered, refusing to let her eyes land anywhere near Draco. 

“Oh I’m so glad,” Theo replied with a wicked smile. “You know, I looked for you at the end of the night and couldn’t find you anywhere. I do hope you weren’t feeling unwell.”

“No, I just went to bed early. Long day, you know,” she replied, attempting to memorize the floral pattern of the teacup she was holding. 

Theo hummed in agreement, then turned his attention to Draco. “How about you, Draco? Did you have a nice birthday? Get everything you wanted?”

Draco stared back at him, unblinking. “Well as a matter of fact...yes,” he replied. “Although you didn’t get me anything, so you’re officially dead to me,” he added, smirking at his friend. 

“Come round to mine tomorrow and I’ll give you your gift,” Theo suggested. 

“Can’t,” Draco said with a grimace. “I have a portkey to catch in an hour.”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Hermione choked on her tea, eyes shooting to Draco’s face. “You do?” she managed, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

“Yes,” he said, holding her gaze until she felt her cheeks heat. “I have some business to attend to in New York.” He stood, strolling around the table to kiss Pansy’s cheek and shake Neville’s hand before pausing next to Hermione’s chair. 

“Fancy a walk in the garden before I leave?” he asked quietly. She nodded, standing quickly and saying her goodbyes to the others. 

Once outside the dining room, Draco snagged her hand, pulling her with him down the hall to an empty sitting room. Shutting the door behind them he turned, pressing her back against the wood as his lips claimed hers. When his hard thigh pushed between hers, she moaned. 

“Are you really leaving?” she panted, running her hands up and down his chest as his own snaked around to her arse, lifting her higher onto his leg so she was riding his thigh. 

He groaned, letting his head drop onto her shoulder. “I have to,” he replied, turning to suck on a spot beneath her jaw that had her writhing against him. “If I would have thought, even for one second, that you’d finally let me into your knickers, I never would have agreed to this trip.” 

She slapped his chest playfully, then gripped his shirt in both fists as he returned his attention to her lips. “How long before you have to leave?” she gasped between kisses. 

He smirked, lifting her again so she could wrap her legs around him. “Long enough.”

*****

A little over an hour later, Draco was gone, and Hermione was standing in the manor garden with Harry and Ron. 

“Blimey,” Ron said, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t believe Pansy kicked us out like that.”

Harry chuckled, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “Mate, I know you are completely oblivious when you’re eating, but if we hadn’t left when we did, they would have just started fucking on the table.” He paused, grimacing. “I reckon that’s what they’re doing right now, actually.”

From a bench nearby, Ginny dry-heaved in protest. 

Hermione linked her arms with Harry and Ron, enjoying a peaceful moment with the two boys— _ men _ , she reminded herself—she had shared so much with. 

The silence was broken a moment later as James’ excited voice could be heard chattering away to Daphne as they rounded the corner. His dark head was tilted up toward hers, green eyes sparkling with happiness as he finished a story about the grindylows he had seen on last summer’s annual Weasley family vacation. 

Daphne Greengrass, Hermione had found, was full of surprises. They hadn’t been friends at Hogwarts; hadn’t ever really even interacted until after she had started spending time with Draco and Theo through the program. But now, Hermione couldn’t imagine life without her. She had a kind heart, a quick mind, and a creative hand, and was absolutely the most beautiful witch Hermione had ever seen—and that was including Fleur, who was part-Veela. 

Watching her now, walking across the lawn hand-in-hand with the little boy that Hermione loved as if he were her own, Hermione smiled. When she glanced at Harry, she was a bit surprised to see the way he was looking at Daphne—the same way a hungry lion looked at a gazelle.

“Daddy!” James cried, breaking into a run and pulling Daphne along behind him. She laughed as they ran, the wild waves of her hair tumbling over her shoulders. 

“Daddy, you’ll never believe it,” James panted, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Harry. Daphne stumbled, wanting to avoid a collision with the boy, but instead pitching forward to land against Harry’s chest.

“Ow,” she groaned, as Harry quickly disentangled them and set her back on her feet. Hermione didn’t miss the way his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary on Daphne’s bare shoulders. 

Completely oblivious to the behavior of the adults, James continued on. “Daph said that at her family’s house in Devonshire, they have a  _ kelpie  _ in the lake! She said we can go see it!” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can we go, Dad?”

Harry, who had been looking at Daphne, finally turned to his son. “What... now?” he asked incredulously. 

Daphne laughed, white teeth flashing in a wide grin. “Maybe not just now,” she answered for James. “But you’re welcome anytime. Both of you,” she added, almost shyly, before remembering herself. “All of you,” she amended, gesturing toward Ginny on the bench. Ginny waved her hand in the air in thanks. 

_ Interesting _ , thought Hermione, as James went over to chatter to his mum while Daphne and Harry stood awkwardly near each other, doing their best to avoid further eye contact. 

A few hours later, after several more rounds of goodbyes, Hermione was back at her flat in London, unpacking her bags and marveling at the head-spinning events of the last few days. 

She dashed a letter off to Draco in New York, waved her wand to start her usual dinner for one, and settled back into her normal, perfectly scheduled routine.

***** 

Draco didn’t return to England for three whole weeks. Apparently the job in the States was more intense than he had originally thought. He owled her every other day, the speed of their correspondence slowed by the Atlantic Ocean. 

On week four, he wrote to let her know that he was home, but had to head to Wiltshire to take care of some family matters at Malfoy Manor. They saw each other at a group dinner with all their friends, but could do no more than escape to the posh restaurant’s bathroom for a decidedly  _ un _ -posh blow job before Hermione had to leave early to take a very sick, very drunk Daphne home. 

During week five, her workload at the Ministry became overwhelming, as the Endangered Magical Species Protection Act legislation she had been working on for six months was finally ready to move forward. This was also the week where she realized that her period, which had been irregular in the best of times, had taken a full-on leave of absence. 

Which brought her back to the present—sitting at her small kitchen table, a cup of rapidly cooling tea at her elbow, nervous energy running through her body and a baby in her belly. 

The sound of flapping wings interrupted her thoughts as her owl, Artemis, swooped back in through the open window. She landed on the chair across from Hermione, hooting softly and holding out her leg. 

_ On my way  _ were the only words scrawled across the scrap of paper. Seconds later, a knock sounded. 

She ran her hands nervously over her shirt as she crossed the door, wishing she had taken the time to change before owling Draco.

No sooner had she pulled open the door than Draco was pushing through, looking worried. “Look,” he began, taking her hand and searching her face in earnest. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around. I got delayed in New York and then we’ve both been so busy since I got back. But I promise, I want us to be more than secret shags in bathrooms. Starting today, I’ll clear my schedule and tell anyone who owls me to just fuck right the hell off.” He clutched her hand nervously, bringing her fingers to his lips for a belated kiss. “Except you, of course,” he added sheepishly. 

Confused, Hermione led them over to sit on her sofa. “Draco,” she started cautiously, “do you think I’m having second thoughts?”

He blinked at her. “Aren’t you?”

“No!” she said, wanting to cry at the irony of the situation. “Why would you think that?”

“Well I—that is—” he paused, brows drawing together in frustration. “You left me that morning,” he said quietly. “You gave me the hottest, most unforgettable sex of my entire life—on my birthday, no less—and then you just slipped out like you were, I don’t know, ashamed? Like you regretted it?”

“I needed to shower!” she cried defensively, although her heart ached at how hurt he sounded. 

“You could have used mine!” he snapped back at her. He closed his eyes, collecting himself before continuing. “Then, that morning at breakfast, you didn’t sit by me. Didn’t say ‘good morning,’ didn’t kiss me, didn’t—” he broke off, sulking. Hermione didn’t bother pointing out that there had been no empty seats by him; she knew it was a lame excuse and wouldn’t do anything to soothe his hurt feelings. 

“And then,” he went on, “I had to leave for work. And the whole time I was gone, I doubted myself.” He stood, walking over to the bookshelves by her window, fingers tracing absently over the spines of her books while she sat in silence, watching him. 

“I know who I am, Hermione,” he said, not looking at her. “No one lets me forget, save our small group of friends. I’m Draco Malfoy, biggest wanker at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, wannabe Death Eater who tried—and failed—to kill Dumbledore. Draco Malfoy, coward who stood by and watched you be tortured by his own family. Draco Malfoy, traitor who turned on the Dark Lord’s followers and got off with a slap on the wrist.” Here he turned, face tortured. “Draco Malfoy, stupid man who has been in love with the only woman he can’t have for years, but has always been too afraid to do anything about it. Who is still afraid that she has realized what a horrible mistake she made, and just hopes that she’ll let him down easy,” he finished on a broken whisper. 

“Draco,” she said, voice thick with tears. She crossed the room, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing her cheek against his chest. “You stupid, stupid man.”

He laughed weakly, arms lifting to embrace her and face dropping into her hair. “That’s not really reassuring,” he murmured. 

She squeezed him tightly, refusing to let go as she spoke into the fabric of his shirt, willing her words to go directly into his heart. “Those things you said about yourself? They may have been true at one time, but they are most certainly not true now.” She gave him a little shake, emphasizing each terrible word he had called himself. “Death Eater, coward, traitor. I don’t know that man. And I know you better than anyone. Maybe better than you know yourself.”

“What about ‘wanker’?” he joked, soliciting a glare from Hermione. 

“Debatable,” she responded. 

“Stupid man who loves the only woman he can’t have?” he whispered. 

“If you believe that, you  _ are  _ stupid,” she whispered back, raising herself onto her toes so she could touch her lips to his. 

Immediately, the kiss exploded with all the pent-up desire they both felt, tongues tangling, hands gripping, hips grinding. 

“Oh gods, Hermione,” he moaned when they broke apart, gasping for breath. “Fuck, I missed you.” He ran his hands over her body, gripping her arse through the thin cotton shorts she wore. 

“I missed you too,” she breathed into his ear, thrilling at the shudders that racked his body. “So much. Gods, Draco, I’ve wanted to be with you for so long. I think I’ve loved you since you first tried to order coffee in a fancy muggle cafe.”

He pulled back, looking at her in surprise. “That was during the program,” he said. 

She smiled sheepishly in response. 

“Oh  _ gods _ ,” he said again, crushing her to him as he devoured her mouth with his.

Hermione could feel them spiraling quickly out of control, passion burning supernova bright between them. She had to slow them down, had to tell Draco the news.

With great effort, she dragged her lips from his. His mouth followed hers, teeth nipping at her lower lip as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

“Wait,” she gasped, using every bit of self-control she possessed to push gently against his chest, separating them a few inches. “This wasn’t the reason I asked you to come over,” she said, waiting until the lust cleared a bit from his eyes before continuing. 

“It wasn’t?” he replied. 

She took a deep breath, pulling him back to the sofa where they could sit down. He needed to be sitting down for this. 

“The night of the wedding—your birthday,” she started. “It was the best night of my life. I was so happy being with all our friends, and then we danced, and then we kissed, and then we—well, you remember.”

He grinned, threading their fingers together. 

“I was so happy,” she repeated, “and so caught up in what I was feeling, what we were doing, that I stopped thinking.”

“I did the same,” he said earnestly.

“I know,” she replied with a short laugh, “and that’s why I need to talk to you. Because when two smart people stop thinking, accidents happen.” 

He looked at her, puzzled, and she hurried to continue.

“Neither of us cast a contraception charm,” she said quietly, watching his face carefully as he took that information in, processed it, understood it. “We shagged at least half a dozen times that night, and used not one single contraception charm.”

His eyes had gone unfocused, his mouth open slightly as he listened intently to her. 

“My period was late,” she continued, gripping his hands tightly with her own. “So I performed a diagnostic charm on myself. It’s not as good as if a Healer did it, but it worked well enough. And to be sure, I also bought some muggle pregnancy tests.” She dropped her eyes to their hands, then forced herself to look back up at him, to meet his eyes while she delivered the news that would change both of their lives forever: “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. 

He was quiet for a long time, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Draco?” she questioned softly, starting to feel some of her nerves return. “Is there anything you’d like to say?” 

When he didn’t respond right away, she rushed to reassure him. “I’m not expecting anything from you that you don’t want to give,” she said. “I don’t need money, or marriage, or your name, or...or anything. I just wanted you to know so we could—discuss what to do,” she finished lamely, shivering at the look that had entered his eyes as she spoke. 

“You don’t expect anything from me that I don’t want to give?” Draco echoed in an incredulous voice. He reached out with a shaking hand, glancing up at her for permission before placing his palm against her flat stomach. “Baby or no baby, I would give you everything,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Her eyes filled with tears, hands coming to rest over the top of his. “I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to trap you into anything,” she explained shakily. 

He shook his head at the ridiculousness of that statement, smiling at their joined hands resting on her belly. “I’m going to be a father,” he said in quiet awe. “You're going to have my baby,” he continued, dropping his head as he was overcome with emotion. 

His shoulders shook quietly for a moment, hair falling into his eyes. Hermione reached to push the blonde strands back from his face, smoothing her hand over his back before pulling him fully into her arms. 

He clutched her to his body, running his hands over her reverently. He turned his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. She felt his lips on her skin, kissing gently up to her ear, across her cheekbones, over her eyelids, up to her forehead. 

“My lips are down here,” she teased, capturing his face and pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss was sweet, his lips worshiping hers as their tongues caressed. 

“So,” she said when they broke apart. Draco leaned back to rest against the back of her sofa, tugging her onto his lap and snuggling her against his chest. 

“So,” he repeated, looking very pleased with himself. 

“For the first time in my life, I have absolutely no idea what to do next,” she said, tracing her fingers over the hard lines of his stomach.

He laughed, playing with the curls that fell down her back. “I seriously doubt that’s true,” he replied. “If there’s one person in my life I can always depend on to know what to do, it’s you, Granger. But I say we do what people in love and having a baby do: be together,” he said, as if it was just that simple. 

“What about your mother?” Hermione asked, grimacing. 

“What about her? I think she loves you more than she loves me. When she finds out you’re going to make her a grandmother, it won’t even be a contest,” he replied. 

She broached the next question more carefully. “Do you think it will bother her that we aren’t married?” Wizarding society was more old-fashioned than the muggle world, and the Malfoy name was an old one. While she didn’t necessarily want to rush into marriage, she also knew that she didn’t want to tarnish her baby’s reputation before it was even born. 

Draco’s hand stilled, and Hermione looked up to search his face. When his eyes met hers they were honest; direct. “The Malfoy name doesn’t mean what it used to,” he started, gesturing to his left arm, where she knew his Dark Mark rested beneath his sleeve. “The only people’s opinions who really matter are sitting here on this ugly sofa—come on, you know this is hideous, Granger, no need to resort to violence—and I know my mother and our friends will support whatever we choose to do.” He sighed, rubbing one hand over his eyes and letting his head fall back onto the sofa. “But if you’re also wondering about the wizarding world’s reaction to the child of a former Death Eater and a muggle-born war hero—which is going to cause enough of a stir on its own, mind you—being born out of wedlock...then yes, unfortunately, many will mind.”

She chewed on her lip, her mind wandering back to the fifty or so scenarios she’d already played out in her head of how her stodgy old co-workers in the Ministry would react if she were to tell them when she returned to work Monday morning. They would never recover from the scandal. 

“Look,” Draco said, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck as he spoke. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just—I would hate for  _ any _ child, and especially any child of mine, to experience the cruelty that may be thrown at it due to who we are and how this happened. I’d do anything to protect them from that—to protect  _ you _ from that.” He placed his hand against her abdomen, fingers splayed out so they covered her belly. “We don’t have to decide anything right now. But know that I’m ready to marry you. In a year, in a month, in an hour. I’ve been ready since the first time you recited insect lyrics to me.”

“Beatles,” she corrected automatically, knowing he was teasing. Then: “Wait, that was during the program!” 

He shrugged, giving her a secret smile. 

She kissed him then, and he kissed her back, lifting her in his arms and making his way to her bedroom. They didn’t speak any more until morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never enjoyed Ron-bashing in Dramione fics...maybe because I just absolutely love Rupert Grint. So you won't find that here. Instead, you'll just find Ron being a lovely husband to Luna and father to his babies.
> 
> And again, despite my intention to write this as more angsty, I just can't with these characters. They all deserve some love. :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @persephonestone and Pinterest: https://pin.it/6PliM6f


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione plan for their new future...with a few twists and turns along the way.
> 
> Things heat up between Harry and Daphne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! This was one of my favorite chapters to write.
> 
> If you'd like some visuals to go with your fluff + smut, please check out my [Pinterest](https://pin.it/S1eJjOi) and my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/persephonestone). 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your kudos and comments! They've been making my day.

Hermione awoke slowly, smells of breakfast and freshly-brewed coffee drifting down the hallway to tickle her nose. She rolled over in bed, glad that it was the weekend so she didn’t have to rush to get dressed and out the door. Instead, she could take a few extra minutes to stretch luxuriously, muscles twinging from the extremely acrobatic maneuvers she and Draco had employed last night. 

_Draco,_ her mind echoed in disbelief. How things had changed in just a few weeks. 

Now that she could be honest with herself, she could admit that she had been in love with Draco for years. Fear and doubt had led her to mistrust what would otherwise have been plain as day: he loved her, too. 

_How can two smart people be so hopelessly stupid?_ she thought, smiling as she rolled out of bed and pulled a robe on over her naked body, heading into the bathroom. 

When she strolled into the kitchen a few minutes later, she was surprised to see Poppy, Draco’s house elf, setting up an elaborate spread on her table. There were fluffy croissants, a large platter of sliced ham, three different types of cooked eggs, and a crystal bowl of fresh fruit. A silver coffee urn sat on the kitchen counter, next to a pot of tea and a vase of freshly cut roses that Hermione recognized from Malfoy Manor’s gardens. 

Draco stood when she entered the room, crossing to kiss her softly. “Good morning,” he said, making her heart trip inside her chest. 

She smiled, taking in his tailored clothing, styled hair, and overall polished appearance. “Draco,” she said, leading them over to the food, “Did you have Poppy bring all this from the manor?”

“Oh yes, miss!” Poppy answered, hopping up and down with excitement. “Master Draco is calling Poppy so early this morning, asking her to bring Miss Hermione a wonderful breakfast. Poppy is also bringing Master Draco fresh clothes and his toiletries, because Poppy knows he will be needing them since he is at Miss Hermione’s flat. Poppy is bringing Master Draco this blue shirt because she is knowing it is Miss Hermione’s favorite,” Poppy added with a mischievous smile. 

As Hermione laughed and thanked Poppy, Draco rolled his eyes. “Thank you ever so much, dear Poppy. That will be all,” he said, and Poppy disapparated with a wink. 

They sat down to eat, Draco pouring them each a cup of tea. “Do you know,” he suggested in a deceptively casual voice, “if we lived together, it would make things so much easier for Poppy. She wouldn’t have to apparate back and forth between the manor and here.” He sipped carefully, studying her over the rim of his cup. 

“How thoughtful of you,” Hermione said, selecting a croissant from the tray. “But don’t you think we’re moving a bit fast? We haven’t even told anyone about the baby—and most people usually don’t for another six weeks, at least—and all of a sudden we’re moving in together?”

Draco lifted a brow at her. “Well we are certainly not living in this flat when the baby comes. It is far too small,” he said, shuddering dramatically. 

“Agreed,” she responded. “Let’s plan this out, though,” she continued. “Step one of the plan: let people know we’re in a relationship.” She paused, chewing her breakfast self-consciously. “We are in a relationship now, aren’t we?”

“Of course we fucking are,” Draco replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it was. 

She smiled, basking in the idea. 

“Steps two through five, in no particular order,” Draco continued, listing them off on his fingers. “Move in together. We don’t have to live in the manor, but I’d like to find a place to live. Somewhere that’s not ‘yours’ or ‘mine,’ but ours together.”

“I’d like that, too,” she interjected, to which he smiled and pulled her hand over to press a gentle kiss to her palm. 

“We tell our family and friends that you’re pregnant,” he said, looking extremely smug, “that you’re having _my_ baby.” Hermione rolled her eyes, but he went on, undeterred. “We get married. We shag constantly,” he breathed, dropping onto his knees in front of her. Her breath came faster, body temperature rising at the look in his eyes. “We have ten more children,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her bare legs, groaning when he reached the apex of her thighs and discovered that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her robe. He massaged her thighs, spreading them as he worked until her legs were splayed wide. 

“We live happily ever after,” he said huskily, before dropping his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her exposed cunt. 

She gasped, holding onto the arms of her chair for dear life as his tongue flicked her clit mercilessly, sending bolts of lightning through the tight bundle of nerves. Just as she thought she could take no more he shifted, laving the flat of his tongue up her slit once, twice, three times before plunging it inside of her body. 

She cried out, throwing her head back and shamelessly writhing against his face, feeling him hum in approval as he continued to fuck her with his tongue. Soon one finger, then two joined the delicious torture, his tongue abandoning its post to return to her clit, sucking hard. 

She moaned, pulling his hair and tipping her hips up to give him better access. “Draco—” she panted, half out of her mind at her own breakfast table. “I’m so close—I need—I want—” she broke off, not knowing what she needed but trusting him to give it to her.

“Steady, love,” he said, and then curled his fingers inside of her, applying firm pressure as he slid them in and out of her body. His lips and tongue continued to suck at her clit, and when he used his teeth to bite gently at the small button of skin, she shattered, sobbing his name and shaking uncontrollably. 

He licked her through her orgasm, gentler and gentler until she returned to herself. 

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, watching him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, an absolutely devilish smile on his face. 

“If you move in with me, I’ll do that every morning,” he whispered. 

“Are you ready to start looking for a place today?” she joked, and was rewarded with a laugh.

*****

They ended up visiting Draco’s mother at Malfoy Manor first, to let her know they had decided to listen to their hearts and be together. Hermione had been a bit nervous; despite her friendly relationship with Narcissa Malfoy, the woman _was_ still wizarding aristocracy, and Draco _was_ still her only child.

Yet no sooner had Narcissa seen Draco escorting Hermione through the floo, fingers entwined and eyes looking dreamily into one another’s, than she had broken into a huge grin and hugged them both so tightly that Hermione heard Draco’s spine pop. A strong woman in more ways than one, that Narcissa. 

Two hours later, after an impromptu lunch on the back terrace of the manor and many promises to have a _weekly_ instead of monthly tea date with Narcissa, Draco and Hermione were off to their next stop. 

They arrived at Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, where Hermione wanted to pick up a few children’s books for Luna and Ron’s new addition. As she browsed the shelves, Draco disappeared to a different part of the shop, searching out books on magical pregnancies and parenting.

Hermione smiled when she found the book she was looking for by her favorite children’s author, H.D. Rue. Rue’s books chronicled the adventures of muggles and muggle-borns, and served as the perfect gift for a niece or nephew of Hermione Granger, not to mention a grandchild of Arthur Weasley. Hermione only wished that they had been available to pureblood families years ago. 

As she stood there, trying to decide between a few of Rue’s stories, she overheard two witches whispering in the next aisle. 

“—Malfoy, I’m sure of it. He’s in the _parenting_ section, for Merlin’s sake,” the first witch hissed. 

“Doesn’t he know he won’t find any books on how to raise a baby Death Eater? He’d have better luck checking his own library,” the second witch replied, and the two women laughed hatefully. 

Hermione’s blood boiled. How dare they speak about him that way? How dare they automatically assume the worst, despite _ten_ years of him working tirelessly to prove himself a changed man? She wouldn’t stand for it. 

Slamming both books into her shopping basket, she stormed around the corner, coming face to face with the horrid witches. 

“Oh!” the first one exclaimed, a middle-aged witch with a pinched face and wiry hair. 

“It’s Hermione Granger!” the second witch simpered, smiling at Hermione with a mouth full of the most crooked teeth she’d ever seen—and being the daughter of dentists, she’d seen a lot. 

_Their appearances obviously match their personalities,_ Hermione thought nastily. 

“Oh good, you know who I am,” Hermione drawled, doing her best impersonation of the very person they had just been talking about. “You’ll also know, then,” she continued, “that Harry Potter is my dearest friend, and currently Head Auror of the DMLE.”

“Of..of course, Miss Granger,” the first witch responded, eyes darting up and down the aisle as if she were afraid of Hermione. _She should be,_ thought Hermione darkly. 

“So then I’m confused,” she continued, stepping forward, herding the two women back toward the exit of the shop as she trailed her fingers over the aisle’s books. “I heard you disparaging a wizard whom Harry and I personally vouched for after the war, one who has served his time, paid his dues, and worked to better himself.” She paused for dramatic effect, then went on. “Unlike someone who say, shoplifts from a bookshop in Diagon Alley.”

Hermione gestured to the toothy woman’s bag, where several unpaid-for books now stuck out of the open top. 

The witches gasped, quickly removing the books and throwing them onto the nearest shelf. Hermione pressed on. 

“You know,” she said quietly, leaning toward the awful women. “I would hope you’d both think very carefully before engaging in such hateful gossip again. You never know who might be listening,” she added, narrowing her eyes. 

The women blanched, turning quickly and engaging in a brief scuffle as both tried to exit through the narrow doorway at the same time. 

Hermione would have laughed if she hadn’t still been so angry. 

A slow clap from behind her startled her out of her dark thoughts, and she turned to find Draco leaning on a bookshelf, smiling at her with a mix of pride and humor in his eyes. 

“I don’t know what those two said to deserve that,” he said as she came toward him, “but that was a sight to behold, Granger. Remind me never to get on your bad side. Er, again,” he amended. 

She wrapped her arms around his ribs, squeezing hard. “They said some nasty things about you,” she said, finding herself surprisingly close to tears. “I wanted to hex them both, but I settled for just threatening them.” She sniffled, burrowing further into him. 

“Ah,” he said, and tilted her chin up to press a kiss to her lips. “Then thank you, my lioness, for once again defending my honor.” He pulled away, looking sad and withdrawn despite his sweet words. 

She grabbed his hand, not allowing him to go. “Let’s buy these books,” she said, gesturing to her basket. She saw his eyes narrow with interest on the children’s books inside, but he nodded for her to continue, “and then let’s go find a house. For us. To live in together,” she added, feeling a bit foolish but also quite sure of herself. 

Draco watched her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, tipping his own books— _Wisdom for New Wizard Fathers_ and _What to Expect When Your Witch is Expecting_ —into the basket before lifting it from her hands and heading to the cashier. 

Two hours later, they had toured four different homes in three different posh wizarding neighborhoods. Hermione had been absolutely aghast at the asking price for the first one, so Draco had refused to tell her the prices of the others. 

“I can afford it, Granger, _please_ stop asking,” was all he would say. 

She was feeling a bit tired, but agreed to see one more house before they returned to her flat. They arrived on the quiet, tree-lined street and strode through the wrought-iron gates, heading up the paved walkway to the large double-doors. White columns lined the front porch, providing a nice contrast to the red brick of the house. 

As they toured the house, followed closely by Draco’s solicitor, Hermione knew this was the one. She could see herself rocking her baby to sleep in one of the large bedrooms upstairs, gentle moonlight drifting through the window as she hummed a lullaby. She could see them hosting dinner parties with all their friends and _their_ children, gathered in the kitchen or back garden. She could imagine little blonde children running up and down the stairs in the foyer, chased by a laughing Draco. She could see herself with Draco, making love night after night in the enormous master suite. And when they finally walked into the library—which Draco had been saving for the end of the tour—Hermione burst into tears, knowing they had found their home. 

Draco nodded to his solicitor, who shivered with glee at the commission she was about to make and then discreetly left them alone. He gathered her into his arms, kissing her sweetly as they stood together. 

“I messed up our plan,” Hermione said with a sniffle. “We were supposed to tell everyone about us _before_ buying a house.”

“Well Granger,” Draco replied, stroking her hair, “if I’m not mistaken, a very wise man once said, ‘Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.’”

*****

The next few weeks passed quickly, filled with work during the day, lovemaking at night, and shopping for their new home on the weekends.

Hermione sent an owl to her parents letting them know that she was with Draco, they were moving in together, and oh by the way—they were also going to be grandparents. She invited them to come visit as soon as they were able. 

She joined Draco to tell his mother about the pregnancy, and spent a solid thirty minutes holding Narcissa while she cried happy tears. They all agreed that the baby would be the smartest, most beautiful, and most loved baby in the history of wizarding England. A fresh round of tears started when Hermione stated that Lucius would have been a wonderful grandfather. 

As for their friends, they decided to just rip the band-aid off quickly and tell them all at once. Theo was hosting a birthday dinner for Daphne at Nott Manor, and they agreed it was as good a time as any, since everyone would be together and in good spirits. 

They arrived together, striding out of Theo’s floo hand in hand, Hermione’s emerald green dress swirling around her thighs. As they headed into the kitchen, where the others were already enjoying pre-dinner drinks, Draco stopped to pull Hermione into a shadowed alcove, kissing her desperately. 

“What was that for?” she purred, arching into him and nibbling at his jawline. 

“Just wanted one more moment of just the two of us, before I have to share you with _them,_ ” he said fondly, jerking his head toward the sound of their friends’ voices. 

She stepped back, holding her hand out to him. He smiled shyly, taking her hand but still looking hesitant. 

“Draco,” she said, reaching her other hand up to cradle his face. How had she ever thought he was hard to read? His face was an open book of nerves and self-consciousness. “These are the people that love you and I best. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

He smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist and sending her a look of gratitude. 

“Besides,” she added, leading them away from the alcove, “if anyone has anything negative to say, I’ll hex their bollocks off.”

He laughed. “And if they don’t have bollocks?” he asked, referring to the women in the group. 

“Their tits, I suppose,” she responded without hesitation. 

Draco needn’t have worried. The reactions of their friends as they walked through the kitchen doors, arms tightly around each other’s waists and faces lit by huge grins, was explosive. 

Daphne clapped tearily, saying what a wonderful birthday present it was to see her two friends in love. 

Harry lifted Hermione off her feet in a hug before clapping Draco on the shoulder and threatening—for old times’ sake—to kill Draco and make it look like an accident if he ever hurt her. 

Ron and Luna both kissed Hermione’s cheeks, Ron telling Hermione how happy he was for them and Luna letting Draco know that all of his wrackspurts were finally gone. 

Neville shook Draco’s hand and wrapped Hermione in a tight hug, while Pansy was beside herself, sobbing into Hermione’s hair as Hermione attempted to soothe her. 

“I’m not sad!” she cried, blowing her nose loudly into a handkerchief that Neville discreetly passed to her. “I’m so happy! Draco has loved you for so long—and he—he—” she broke off again, wailing as Hermione passed her back to Neville. 

The least surprising reaction, by far, was from Theo, who simply smirked and said, “Well it’s about fucking time,” before stretching his arms out to hug them both. 

When Draco and Hermione had answered everyone’s questions and the excitement died down a bit, they moved into the back gardens, taking advantage of the warm August night to enjoy their dinner al fresco. 

Draco chose a chair next to Daphne, looking absolutely delighted when Hermione settled onto his lap. She kissed his cheek, then lifted a bite of steak from her plate to his mouth. He took it gently with his teeth, then held her wrist to suck her index finger between his lips. 

Ron pretended to wretch loudly, but was smiling when they looked in his direction. 

Turning to Harry, Hermione raised a brow as she nibbled at her dinner. “No Ginny tonight?” she asked. 

He shook his head, taking a slow sip of wine before answering. “Molly and Arthur are visiting Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, and she didn’t want to get a sitter.” 

Hermione caught the way Daphne leaned forward, eyes focused on Harry as he spoke. “I would have loved to have James here,” she said quietly. 

Harry looked at her, and Hermione leaned back into Draco, feeling very much in the way of their heated gazes. “Thank you for that,” Harry finally replied. “He did send me with a gift to give you,” he added with a smile. 

One hour stretched into two as they sat, reminiscing about old times and catching up on new ones. At one point Theo and Pansy disappeared into the house, returning with a giant cake that they floated over to Daphne, charmed candles showering golden sparks onto the terrace stones. 

“Make a wish!” Luna cried, and Hermione felt Draco slide his hand possessively over her abdomen, kissing her behind the ear. Daphne, for her part, let her eyes dart only briefly in Harry’s direction before closing them and blowing out her candles. 

Cake was distributed to all and champagne flutes appeared on floating trays. Hermione declined her glass, sending it back into the kitchen. “I’m not drinking,” she said, smiling over her shoulder at Draco.

Pansy, whom Hermione was absolutely convinced was part hawk, sat up quickly from where she was cuddling with Neville on a chaise lounge, gasping dramatically. 

“Granger!” she shrieked. Draco, sensing danger, tucked Hermione protectively under one arm. 

Undeterred, Pansy strode briskly over to stand in front of the pair, eyes searching for something—weakness, Hermione supposed. “Are you pregnant?” she demanded, looking simultaneously thrilled and horrified. 

Hermione merely smiled, face serene as she allowed everyone time to figure out their secret.

“Merlin, you _are_!” Pansy cried, promptly bursting into tears. She pulled Hermione up, hugging her fiercely. “I can’t believe it—our babies are going to be best friends!” She turned, beckoning to Luna, who had been watching with an amused expression on her face, as if they were quite ridiculous for not having figured this all out sooner. “All our babies!” she cried, and then sobbed harder when Luna joined them in the hug. 

“Wait, Pansy—you’re pregnant too?” Draco asked, still seated and looking like he had recently been hit in the head by a bludger. 

“Yes,” she sniffled into Hermione’s curls. “I’m nearly 20 weeks along. We found out before the wedding, but of course we couldn’t tell anyone. Only Daph knew,” Pansy added, reaching out her hand to include Daphne in the circle of crying women. She then stepped back, smoothing the loose, billowy fabric of the dress she wore over a small but definite baby bump. 

“Well, this calls for a toast!” called Theo, signaling for everyone to join him inside the manor.

*****

Daphne lingered behind the others, needing a moment to herself before rejoining the celebration. She wandered over to a stone bench set beneath a large weeping willow tree, a place she and Theo and her sister Astoria had played often as children.

She sighed, plopping down on the bench in a most unladylike fashion, charming her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head to let the cool night air caress her neck. 

Closing her eyes, she imagined a different kind of caress, given to her by a man with strong hands and a kind smile. Eyes so green that not even his glasses could dim them, dark stubble on his chiseled jaw, faint lightning bolt scar hidden amidst the mass of black hair that fell into his face. Broad shoulders, thick with solid muscle, so different from the scrawny boy she remembered from their years at Hogwarts. She imagined first his fingers, then his lips tracing the lines of her neck, teasing down her collarbone, over the tips of her breasts and then lower, past her flat stomach to where she ached for his touch. 

She squirmed on the bench, then had to stifle a shriek when the voice of the very man she’d just been having a proper fantasy about spoke from behind her. 

“Are you alright?” Harry said quietly. 

“Erm, yes,” she choked out, hoping he didn’t notice how she had crossed her legs tightly to relieve some of the ache in her core. 

“That was a lot,” he said, coming to sit beside her and gesturing back toward the house, where their friends had disappeared in a flurry of tears and handshakes. 

“I have a bit of mental whiplash, if I’m being honest,” she replied. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, not missing how his eyes followed the motion. 

“Tonight was just supposed to be about you,” he said, and did he sound a bit angry? Was that on her behalf? She’d have to think on that more later from the privacy of her bed. Oh, hang on, he was still talking—“reveal a relationship which, let’s be honest, we’ve all seen coming for years, and then everyone is all of a sudden having a baby? They’ve all gone completely mental,” he finished, and his eyes were drilling right into her soul, and she was licking her lips, and he was looking at them. 

“You said you had a present for me?” she asked stupidly, desperately wanting to change the subject before she launched herself at him and embarrassed them both. 

“Ah yes,” he said, standing to pull his wand out of his pocket— _damn, those muggle jeans are fitted in all the right places,_ Daphne’s brain thought unhelpfully—and then a small package was zooming through the air to land in his outstretched hand. 

He sat down again, closer this time, and handed her the package. The wrapping had obviously been done by James, and she opened it with great care. Inside the small box was a handmade card that read _HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAPH!_ with a crayon drawing of a large snake slithering around the edges. 

“Is that—” she started.

“Yep. A basilisk,” Harry confirmed. “Because you were in Slytherin.” He smiled fondly at the card before adding, “Ginny and I obviously haven’t told him about second year at Hogwarts, otherwise this would be really fucked up.”

Daphne snorted inelegantly, clapping a hand over her mouth. She fought for control a moment longer, then burst out laughing, laying her hand on Harry’s knee as his shoulders shook with his own laughter. 

“Sweet boy,” she said as her merriment subsided, tucking the card carefully back into the box and lifting a small envelope out. She opened it, then had to blink back tears as a delicate bracelet dropped into her palm. On it were charms featuring every creature a boy could imagine: a fire-breathing dragon, a hippogriff in mid-flight, the giant squid from the Black Lake of Hogwarts, kelpies and mermaids, bowtruckles and hinkypunks. 

“Oh, Harry,” she said, overwhelmed at the thoughtfulness of his young son. “This is beautiful.”

“I agree,” he replied, voice husky, and she looked up to find him staring at her face, eyes molten behind the black frames of his glasses. 

“Help me put it on?” she asked, then had to fight a shiver as his hands brushed her arm, tenderly encircling her wrist to fasten the clasp, letting his fingers linger to caress her skin. 

“Beautiful,” he repeated, still looking at her face. His eyes dropped to her lips, breath catching when her tongue darted out to wet them. 

“Harry—” she breathed, reaching the hand he wasn’t holding up to touch the solid wall of his chest, where she could feel his heartbeat thumping underneath her fingers. 

“Yes?” he murmured, lifting his hands to stroke the sensitive skin of her shoulders, one finger catching in the thin strap of her top. 

“I think I’d really like for you to kiss me,” she said, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling him to her until they were mere inches apart. 

“Way ahead of you,” he responded, cupping her face in his hands and tilting her chin up to meet his kiss. It was hot, and demanding, and nothing like any kiss she’d experienced before. Boys at school, fleeting suitors and boyfriends, they had all treated her like she was made of glass. She had tired of it years ago. 

But now, with Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and Could Apparently Kiss Like a Demon, she didn’t feel delicate or fragile. Didn’t want gentle or soft. She moaned into his mouth, tangling her fingers in the amazing mess of his hair, feeling him pull her body up and over his lap to straddle his thighs. He gripped her hips so hard that she knew she’d have bruises tomorrow. She welcomed them. 

She rocked her body against his, feeling the hardness between his legs and deciding that it was what she wanted most for her birthday. A hard shag and at least two orgasms from the Chosen One, please and thank you. 

“Daphne,” he moaned into her mouth, and who knew her name was so fucking sexy? 

“Harry,” she gasped into his, as his hands squeezed her arse beneath her skirt. 

His tongue slid into her mouth again, robbing her of speech and thought, and she sucked on it, hard. He rewarded her with a desperate groan, hips jerking beneath hers involuntarily. His mouth pulled away from hers to whisper furiously into her ear, lips and tongue and teeth sucking bruising kisses into the graceful line of her neck. 

“Holy _fuck,_ Daphne,” he panted, setting her blood on fire. “You make me lose my mind. I’ve been half hard the entire night, from nothing more than watching you sip wine and walk across a room in this skirt.” He slapped one arse cheek lightly, immediately soothing the sting by massaging his palm over her flesh, and she was embarrassed to feel herself grow even wetter than before. 

“Last month, when we all met for drinks at the Leaky for my birthday,” he continued, dropping his lips to trail his tongue across the top of her breasts, “I almost came in my pants when you leaned over and set my drink down in front of me. I could see right down your top.” 

She gasped when his hands suddenly left her arse, yanking down the neckline of her shirt to expose her breasts, covered in the expensive—yet sheer—lace of her bra. “ _Fuck,_ ” Harry whispered, sounding like he was in pain. “I had to excuse myself and have a proper wank in the bathroom that night,” he continued, delicately tracing her nipple through the lace, making her head drop back and her spine arch, shamelessly pressing herself into his hands. 

“I did it on purpose,” she confessed with a whimper. “I wanted to make you want me as much as I want you.” Her breath caught as he sucked one lace-covered nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and teeth nibbling over her sensitive peak. “I went home that night and touched myself, pretending my fingers were your cock,” she continued brazenly, not recognizing this person who would admit such things so freely, but finding that she quite liked her—especially given Harry’s reaction to her words. 

He stood, hiking her up higher so her legs could wrap around his waist, mouth moving to devour hers as his hands pulled her flush against him, hips grinding against her soft center. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked huskily, breathing hard as he sucked a spot beneath her jaw that had her eyes crossing in pleasure. 

“Oh, _fuck_ yes,” she panted, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and rolling her hips against him. 

He turned, preparing to disapparate them back to Grimmauld Place, but Daphne paused him with short hum. Leaning over to pick up James’ card, she nodded, pressing her breasts into his chest as she whispered directly into his ear, “I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget my name.”

“Way ahead of you,” he groaned in response, and they disappeared with a crack.

*****

Inside Nott Manor, the mood had calmed from chaotic celebration to subdued happiness. They sat in Theo’s living room, stretched out on long couches arranged around the massive fireplace, feeling the night winding down but loath to leave each other’s company just yet.

“Oi, where’s Harry and Daph?” Neville asked, stroking Pansy’s hair as she practically purred under his touch. 

Theo raised his tumbler of fire whiskey in a toast, grinning as he said, “Probably fucking each other’s brains out, either in my garden or back at Harry’s place.”

Hermione let out a shocked laugh at Theo’s words, but couldn’t pretend to be all that surprised. She had practically been incinerated by the heat that had simmered between those two all night, after all. 

Ron sat quietly, staring at the ceiling before speaking. “In what world are Luna and I the most self-aware people in our group of friends?”

“This one, apparently,” Draco drawled, and Luna laughed in response, leaning over her husband to place a sweet kiss on his lips. Ron’s hands came up to cradle her face tenderly, whispering something that only she could hear. She nodded softly, then stood and pulled him to his feet. 

“We’re going to go home and have sex now,” Luna announced to the others, Ron blushing but hurrying behind her to the floo. “Night, mates!” he called as they disappeared into the flames. 

“We should go too,” Pansy said immediately, hopping up and pulling Neville after her. She blew a kiss to Theo, waved to Hermione and Draco, and then the Longbottoms were gone. 

Theo looked between Draco and Hermione, a supremely smug look on his face. “Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said. 

The floo roared to life once more, and then Theo was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's quotation is a paraphrased version of the famous John Lennon song lyric: Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.
> 
> Also, for those wondering: in this world, Hermione's parents got their memories back, but stayed in Australia. I wanted to spend my mind's (limited) bandwidth on the main characters, so Mr. and Mrs. Granger won't be in this much. 
> 
> And finally: how cute is James? 
> 
> If you'd like to see how I picture these characters and settings in my head, please come check out my [Pinterest](https://pin.it/S1eJjOi) and [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/persephonestone).


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione have another surprise in store for their friends.
> 
> A new character arrives on the scene.
> 
> And smut. Lots of smut. These characters are insatiable, you guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos. They truly mean a lot to me!
> 
> This chapter is just wall-to-wall smut, with some fluff thrown in. And I guess a bit of plot.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/persephonestone) and [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/persephonestone2/) for visuals and other ridiculousness.

The twelve-week mark of Hermione’s pregnancy came and went, although her morning sickness was apparently inclined to stick around awhile longer. 

It made work interesting; one minute she would be discussing how an environmental policy could affect a centaur herd in Wales, and the next minute she’d get a whiff of the chicken salad sandwich a co-worker ate for lunch and have to excuse herself to vomit in the nearest potted plant. 

Draco had started coming by her office several times a week during her lunch, charming her secretary and ingratiating himself with all her co-workers. On the days he didn’t come, she found herself missing him fiercely. Today was one of those days. 

A knock sounded at her office door, and she looked up from her desk, finding her secretary Eleanor standing in the doorway. 

“Miss Granger,” Eleanor started, and Hermione knew that if Eleanor wasn’t using her first name, there was someone here for a meeting. “There’s a Miss Valentina Cortez here to see you.” She smiled at Hermione before stepping aside to allow Miss Cortez to enter. 

Hermione stood, walking around her desk to shake the American witch’s hand. Miss Cortez was a highly-respected member of MACUSA’s legal branch of the DMLE, and had come to England at Hermione’s request to serve as a consultant on the Endangered Magical Species Protection Act. Miss Cortez had successfully passed a similar bill in the United States, and would be an invaluable resource to Hermione over the next few months as her own version worked its way through the Wizengamot.

“Miss Granger,” Miss Cortez said, shaking Hermione’s hand firmly. 

“Please, call me Hermione,” she replied, motioning for them to sit. 

“Only if you’ll call me Valentina.”

“Done,” Hermione said with a smile. 

Valentina was a striking witch, tall and slim with long black hair that fell in a glossy waterfall down her back. Her black v-neck blouse and pencil skirt were modest and professional, but she still would have looked completely at home on a runway in Paris or Milan. 

“I’ve been reading up on your case, Hermione,” Valentina said. “I think you have a strong argument for the conservation of the natural habitat of the kelpies in Windermere, as well as the protection of the Abraxan winged horses of Dartmoor…”

Hermione listened as Valentina rattled off details of the bill, impressed at the attention to detail that few people—aside from herself—usually had the capacity for. 

They discussed the case for the next thirty minutes, Valentina taking careful, color-coded notes that made Hermione giddy with joy. 

When they decided to break for lunch, Hermione invited Valentina to join her in the Ministry’s cafeteria, where they shifted from talking about work to getting to know one another better. 

Valentina had been born in California, and was the youngest of six daughters. Her parents were both Healers, and Valentina had thought about being a Healer herself before deciding to pursue a law career instead. 

“When I see injustice in the world, even today, ten years after Voldemort was vanquished, I get so angry,” she said passionately, slamming her hand on the table for emphasis. “So my choice was simple: join MACUSA and be part of changing unjust laws, or end up in prison for murder.”

She laughed in a way that made Hermione silently question whether she was actually joking. 

They continued to chat, during which time Hermione revealed her pregnancy and her relationship with Draco, and Valentina—or Val, as she insisted her friends called her—bemoaned her lack of time for dating. 

“At this point, I’d settle for a one-night stand,” Val confided, leaning across the table to avoid being overheard. “I haven’t had sex in _months_. Know anyone who might be interested?” she joked, but the wheels in Hermione’s mind were already turning. 

As they walked back to Hermione’s office, they chatted about where Val was staying, and how hard it had been for her to find a place that would let her stay long-term without a definite end date.

“You know,” Hermione ventured, “I am moving in with Draco in a few weeks. Would you be interested in my flat?”

Val turned to her, full lips spreading into a wide grin. “Are you serious? Of course I’m interested!”

And Hermione’s plan was set into motion. 

*****

The following weekend, Hermione took a break from picking out paint colors and bedroom furniture to meet the girls for lunch. She invited Val to join too, as she knew the American didn’t know anyone else in England outside of their Ministry office. 

Pansy had chosen a posh new restaurant in Diagon Alley, where they ate canapés and sipped chilled glasses of champagne and pumpkin juice. 

As it often did when Pansy and Luna were around, the conversation soon became quite risqué. 

“I swear, I just want it all the time,” Pansy said in a hushed voice, referencing her insatiable need for Neville’s impressive penis in every possible orifice. “You all thought I was a complete slag at the wedding, but I honestly couldn’t help it. My hormones are just _totally_ out of control,” she finished dramatically, fanning herself with her napkin. 

Luna nodded wisely. “It was like that for me with Juno,” she said, unconsciously rubbing her fingers over her lips in a decidedly sensual manner. “This time around, I’m still incredibly horny, but I can usually rein it in until Ron and I are in the privacy of our home. Or his old bedroom at the Burrow. Or in the backseat of that flying muggle car he and Harry stole. Or in the loo at the Leaky. Or—”

“Okay, we get it Luna,” Ginny groaned, obviously not keen to hear how much sex her brother and closest friend were having. 

“How about you, Gin?” Pansy asked, obviously not thinking of the incredibly awkward waters she was wading into as Daphne stiffened beside her. “Did you turn into a succubus when you were pregnant with James?”

Ginny took a long sip of champagne, thinking of how best to answer. “Not exactly,” she finally said diplomatically. “But I was quite sick for most of my pregnancy. Had something muggles call hyperemesis gravidarum.”

“One of my older sisters had that,” Val supplied, nodding in sympathy. “Spent all nine months hugging a toilet. She was miserable.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Pansy said, ignoring Luna’s hand signals to stop talking. “Harry Potter is fucking _fit_. I love Neville more than anything, but I’d call Harry ‘daddy,’ if you know what I mean.” She leered across the table at Ginny. 

Ginny raised an eyebrow at her, smiling. “I don’t know why you’re talking to me,” she responded. “I haven’t had any experience in that department for almost five years. Daphne is the one who’s currently shagging him.”

The table fell silent. Pansy’s face went absolutely white with horror, belatedly realizing her mistake. Daphne looked mortified, covering her face with her hands. Luna became very busy with the wine menu, despite not being able to drink anything on it, and Hermione shot an apologetic look at Val, who seemed torn between being supremely uncomfortable and highly entertained. 

“Oh my gods, I am so stupid,” Pansy ventured, but Ginny cut her off. She reached across the table, pulling one of Daphne’s hands into her own. 

“It’s okay, Daph,” she said gently, gracing her friend with a genuine smile. “Harry told me. I haven’t seen him that happy—or nervous—in a long time,” she added fondly, squeezing Daphne’s hand. 

“Oh, Ginny,” Daphne whispered tearily, and then the two women were standing to hug each other.

“Oh thank gods,” Luna murmured from behind the wine menu. 

When Hermione returned to her flat after lunch, Draco was there waiting for her, looking positively edible with his shirt sleeves rolled up, reading one of the pregnancy books he’d purchased at Flourish and Blotts. 

He set his book down as she crossed the room to him, opening his arms wide and then tucking her in close as she crawled onto his lap. 

She tolerated the sweetness for a minute, but all the sex talk at lunch had left her decidedly hot and bothered, her skin feeling like it was two sizes too small. She reached up to pull his lips down to hers for a searing kiss, making quick work of his shirt buttons as they snogged. 

She slid down his body, trailing kisses over his chest, the hard lines of his stomach, and the bulge in his trousers. 

“ _Fuck,_ Hermione!” he yelped, then let his head fall helplessly against the back of the sofa as Hermione unfastened his trousers, pulling them open and his boxer briefs down to expose his—in her opinion—quite glorious cock. 

She kissed the tip of it before slipping the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around and around until she heard him stammering unintelligibly above her. Then she sank down onto him, taking him as far into her mouth as she could before pulling back, sucking gently and gripping the base of his cock firmly in one hand. 

She looked up at him through her lashes, working him in a torturous rhythm until he was gripping her hair and begging her—for what, she didn’t think he even knew. 

He groaned, pulling her arms until she was back on the sofa with him, straddling his hips. “I need to be inside you,” he panted hoarsely, and she obliged him, vanishing her knickers and lifting her skirt to sink down onto his length. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he disappeared, one slow inch at a time, into her body. 

“ _Merlin,_ you’re so wet,” he said, gripping her arse and spreading her cheeks wide. She felt her cunt stretch with the motion, his cock slipping even deeper inside of her. 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” she whimpered, starting to move. “This is what you do to me, Draco,” she said, burying her face in his neck as she rode him. 

“Gods...Hermione,” he said, out of his mind with lust. “Come for me, love. I want you to come while my cock is deep inside you. I want you to feel how hard you make me, how much I want you, how much I love you.”

“Keep talking Draco, _please,_ ” she sobbed, feeling her orgasm start to build. 

“You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” he panted into her ear. “All I can think about—all I’ve thought about for years—is fucking you. In every position, on every available surface, making you come so hard that you forget everything you ever read in _Hogwarts: A History_ ,” he continued, tapping into a kink she didn’t know she had. 

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he continued, slowing his hips to roll sensuously underneath her, so deep inside her she could feel the tip of his cock kiss her womb. “I can’t wait to meet our baby. I can’t wait to tell you I love you every single day. Because I’ve wasted too many days, already,” he said, and he sounded so remorseful that she felt tears spring to her eyes. 

“I love you so much, Draco,” she said, shifting to look into his eyes. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” She punctuated each admission with a sinful slide up and down his cock, riding him hard until they both came, sobbing each other’s names. 

When they returned to themselves, slick with sweat and tears and come, Hermione laid her head on Draco’s chest. She kissed the spot above his heart. “Draco?” she whispered.

“Hmm?” he responded, running his fingers gently up and down her back.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Alright Granger, give me just a minute to recover,” he chuckled into her hair.

“No,” she said quietly, sitting up to look him in the eye, watching the expression on his face change from amused to awestruck at her words. “I’m ready to get married. Let’s do it.”

She was rewarded with a bone-crushing hug, a soul-melting kiss, and three more orgasms before the day was through. 

*****

By the end of September, Hermione had celebrated her 29th birthday, moved into a new home, and been officially proposed to by the man she loved. 

The proposal had been sweet and romantic, in the library of their new home, soft music playing as Draco dropped to one knee. He presented her with a truly enormous oval-shaped diamond ring, smiling up at her through tears as he whispered words of love and devotion, asking her to please let him be hers forever. 

She lowered herself down beside him, kissing him as he slipped the ring onto her finger. 

By mid-October, they were hosting a grand housewarming party at their new home. 

Theo had been sent on an errand to fetch a cake knife Hermione had left behind at her old flat. She had insisted it was important and that yes, she absolutely needed it for the party tonight, and _would you just bloody go already, Theo?_

Not wanting to disappoint his favorite pregnant friend, who also happened to be thoroughly fucking terrifying, Theo strolled through the floo at half past five, thirty minutes before he needed to be at the Granger-Malfoy residence. 

He headed into the dark kitchen, rummaging through the drawers to find the blasted piece of flatware that Hermione just _had_ to use tonight. 

“You’d think Draco could afford a new cake knife,” Theo grumbled to himself, not noticing light spill into the hallway behind him as the bedroom door opened. “And why am I the one who has to retrieve it? What am I, a house elf?” He leaned down to search the cabinets at his knee, not bothering to close the drawers he had finished with. 

“You don’t look like a house elf,” a feminine voice said from above his head, causing him to startle so violently that he smashed his head into the still-open drawers.

He crumpled to the floor, hands clutching the back of his head, eyes closed tightly against the pain. 

He heard a soft laugh from above him, then felt a soothing icy coldness spread over his throbbing skull. 

“Are you laughing at an injured man?” he asked the mystery woman, rolling over onto his back and slowly opening his eyes. 

Theo had a way with words; always had. He prided himself on his eloquence, his quick thinking, his sharp wit. But as the stranger came into focus, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he found himself speechless. 

She had a heart-shaped face, full lips, and striking hazel eyes under delicately arched brows. Long, dark waves of hair framed her face, falling over her shoulders and enveloping him in her intoxicating scent. 

She was kneeling over him with her wand drawn, having cast the cooling spell presently working its magic on the lump that was forming on his head. However, this position also put her breasts at his eye level, and he felt an uncomfortable tightening in his groin. They were bloody magnificent. 

“You must be Theo,” she said, extending a hand to help pull him into a sitting position. 

“Who the hell are you?” he asked stupidly, feeling a bit dizzy from the rush of blood to his head—not to mention his groin. 

She laughed. “Charming,” she said, standing and smoothing her dress down over her hips. _Merlin’s bloody beard,_ Theo thought, catching a glimpse of her arse as she walked to the kitchen counter, using the moment when her back was turned to discreetly adjust himself inside his trousers and make sure he wasn’t drooling. 

She returned a moment later, handing him the cake knife he’d been sent to find. 

“Hermione told me you’d be stopping by to get this,” she said as he picked himself up off the ground, wincing. He felt drunk and off-balance, and it wasn’t just from hitting his head. “I offered to bring it, but she said you didn’t mind. Valentina,” she added with a smile. 

“Bless you,” he responded, straightening his clothes and trying to smooth his hair into some semblance of order. 

“That’s my name,” she replied, using her wand to turn on the kitchen light and gesturing for him to turn so she could inspect his head. 

“Your name is Valentina?” Theo echoed, feeling hopelessly idiotic. Had he gone and given himself brain damage?

“Actually, my name is Valentina Teresa Josefina Carmen Maria Cortez, but most people just call me Val,” she replied, probing his scalp lightly with her fingers. 

He gaped at her, mouth open. “Have I been in some sort of accident?” he asked, only half joking. “Is this a ‘Wizard of Oz’ situation? Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” One of her searching fingers poked the lump on his head, hard. 

“Ow!” he cried, jerking his head away and muttering, “Definitely a bad witch,” with a scowl. 

“Baby,” she teased. 

“Already calling me baby?” he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself. _What the hell was that?_ He’d used better lines during his third year at Hogwarts. When he’d basically been invisible and too afraid to talk to girls. 

Val just laughed, throwing a “You wish,” over her shoulder as she picked up her bag from the counter and headed toward the floo. She paused, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked, and he had to furiously bite his tongue before he said something absolutely juvenile and humiliating. 

“Yes, alright,” he finally replied, following her into the flames. 

*****

“Theo, there you are!” Hermione cried as he stepped out of the floo, rushing to wrap him in a hug and retrieve the cake knife. “Oh good, you met Valentina! She’s on loan to us from MACUSA’s DMLE, and is staying in my old flat while she’s here.”

Theo glared at Hermione. “For the sake of my unborn, honorary niece or nephew, I will refrain from hexing you for that little stunt.” He grabbed a glass of champagne off a charmed tray that floated by. “But don’t think I’ll forget about it,” he added petulantly. 

Hermione didn’t even bother to hide her grin, turning to greet Val and the other guests. 

Her parents had flown in from Australia a few days prior, electing to stay at a muggle hotel in order to avoid bothering Draco and Hermione as they worked through their jet lag. Draco was giving them a tour of the house now, and she could hear her father’s deep tones of appreciation as they explored the wine cellar. 

Narcissa had flooed in before the party started, delivering fresh flowers from the manor gardens, kisses to Hermione and her grandbaby, and strict orders to the (paid, she assured Hermione) house elves who accompanied her. 

The arrivals came in quick succession. First came Neville and Pansy, the latter looking beautiful in a deep burgundy dress that hugged the curve of her belly. 

Next came Ron, Luna, and Juno. Juno squealed happily when she saw Hermione and then squealed even louder when she saw Draco, who was admittedly—and quite ironically—one of her favorite “uncles.”

Harry and Daphne showed up next, arriving separately but immediately gravitating toward each other, Harry’s royal blue tie not-so-coincidentally a perfect match to the color of Daphne’s dress. His hand lingered on the small of her back, her fingers found their way to his, and the looks they gave each other when they thought no one was watching made Hermione teary-eyed. 

Soon Ginny, her husband Miles, and James arrived, followed by the rest of the extended Weasley clan. The last to arrive was Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy Lupin, who immediately dashed off to play with James. 

When their guests had finished exclaiming over the house, drinking champagne, and feasting on canapés, Draco invited everyone to come out to the back garden for a special surprise. 

Upon exiting the large doors that led outside, it soon became apparent to their guests that this was no simple housewarming party. Lights were hung from the branches of a massive oak tree, creating a glowing altar of branches and boughs. Rows of chairs sat on either side of a makeshift aisle of swirling flower petals. A large white tent was set up on one side of the lawn, housing tables and chairs, a dance floor, and a three-tier wedding cake.

“May we have your attention, please?” Draco asked, arms wrapped around Hermione’s waist, grins spread across both of their faces at having successfully pulled off their deception. Everyone turned, mouths open in surprise, shock, and excitement.

“As most of you already know, Hermione and I have recently decided to stop being total idiots and admit that we love each other—that we have loved each other for longer than we were probably even aware,” Draco began, smiling down at Hermione as Theo shouted, “Hear, hear!”

“We have started a family together, moved into this home together, and as you lot make up everyone we hold most dear, we would be most appreciative if you would please take a seat and help us celebrate joining our lives together.”

“Surprise!” Hermione added with a laugh, feeling not the slightest bit of guilt at avoiding the public spectacle of a society wedding that most would have expected from one of the oldest families in the wizarding world. To prevent a complete scandal, they had already written an announcement to submit to The Daily Prophet the following day, along with a few carefully chosen photographs from tonight.

Everyone moved to take their seats, while Draco transfigured the perfectly acceptable suit he’d been wearing into a formal tuxedo. He stopped to whisper a few words in Percy Weasley’s ear, and Percy nodded and joined Draco at the altar.

Hermione slipped back into the house. With a wave of her wand, the simple white dress she’d been wearing turned into a floor-length ivory gown with a full skirt and a short train. The soft swell of her belly rose proudly beneath the delicate lace. She wore no veil and her curls fell loose around her shoulders, the way Draco liked best. She accepted a small bouquet of white peonies and roses from Poppy the house elf, waiting until she heard the faint strains of music to exit the house once more. 

As she walked serenely down the aisle, she knew her friends and family sat watching. She knew that her mother was crying softly, tears of joy streaming down her face as she watched her daughter—once lost to her due to Hermione’s memory spell—heading toward her future, a child no longer. She knew that Narcissa wept quietly, clutching her sister’s hand as a candle burned steadily in Lucius’ memory, sitting underneath the star that had been named for him. She knew that Daphne was holding Harry’s hand tightly, sandwiched between him and James as she envisioned perhaps walking down the aisle herself one day. She knew that Pansy and Neville shared a glance, reminiscing on their own not-so-distant wedding that had set all these events in motion. She knew that Ron and Luna and all the other Weasleys, once the family she had thought she’d be marrying into, smiled broadly as they watched her walk toward her true soulmate. She knew that Theo, who had known their hearts longer than they had, was sitting smugly, prepared to remind them of this from now until the day he died.

She knew all this, and yet she only had eyes for the man standing at the altar, waiting for her. Draco Malfoy. The man she loved, desired, and would happily spend the rest of her life with.

As she neared the front of the aisle he stepped forward, taking her hand and walking the last few steps with her. Fingers and hearts entwined, they stood before Percy as he went through the formalities of a wizarding marriage ceremony, before stepping back and letting them recite the vows they had written for one another.

“Hermione Granger,” Draco began, turning to face her, face so open in his love and admiration for her that she immediately felt tears gather in her eyes. “When I first met you, I was a poor excuse for a wizard. Snotty, entitled, horribly prejudiced, afraid of change.” He paused, hand trembling in hers. She squeezed it tightly, refusing to let go. “After the war, when I was so lost, you became my lifeline. You showed me how to be a good man, how to do more with my mind than hate, how to question and learn things that I thought I already knew, how to accept love into my life and my heart. You found me,” he continued, voice wavering and eyes bright with unshed tears, “you _changed_ me into someone better, and I will spend every day for the rest of our lives making sure you know how deeply I cherish and love you. Making sure our children, as many as we’re blessed to have, know just how lucky we are to have you in our lives. Making sure to work alongside you so the world—wizarding and muggle—is as it should be: a better place for all.”

Hermione beamed at him through her tears, making sure her voice carried proudly to all who sat watching. “From a young age, I knew how my life was going to go; where I would go to school, which career I would choose, when I would get married, when I would have children. Then I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts,” she said with a laugh, “where I met my two dearest friends, but also a boy who lived to challenge me.” She stretched her hand up to cradle his face, reassuring him as she spoke. “Ever since the first time I met him, that boy was constantly forcing me to think, to learn, to understand. That boy grew into a man who challenged me further—to see beyond what I thought I knew; to listen, to teach, to forgive. To love,” she added, her voice thick with emotion. “To know that despite how carefully you plan things out in your head, that it’s your heart that will always lead you in the right direction. Thank you for teaching me to listen to it, Draco,” she finished, wiping away a tear that spilled down his cheek. “I will spend the rest of my life loving you and the family we’re building—which includes all of you, by the way,” she added, turning to smile at their friends and family. She turned back to Draco, finishing her vows with a teary laugh, “I welcome any further challenge that life throws at me, provided _you_ are always by my side to help me face it.”

Draco leaned down to kiss her, causing Percy to clear his throat and step forward once again to finish the ceremony. 

They exchanged rings, a thin eternity band for Hermione and a thick ring of platinum for Draco. They stood still, hands placed together, as they repeated their vows and Percy performed the incantation that officially joined them as man and wife. Then finally, they kissed, Hermione’s arms twining around Draco’s neck as he pulled her into his body, arms wrapped tightly around her.

And then they were dashing back down the aisle, being pulled into hugs by their parents and friends, laughing and crying and celebrating. They ate dinner, listened to impromptu toasts from their friends, cut their cake, and danced until late into the night. And with an invitation to their guests to stay as long as they wished, Draco swung Hermione into his arms, carrying her into the house and up the stairs. 

“Wife,” he said huskily, striding into their bedroom and kicking the door shut behind him. 

“Husband,” she answered, eyes shining with happiness and love. 

He laid her on the bed, kissing his way down her body with the most gentle of touches until she was writhing beneath him, desperate for more contact. He stepped back from her, slipping off his jacket and loosening his tie, removing his cufflinks and unbuttoning his shirt.

She sat up, retrieving her wand and setting to work on removing her wedding gown, but he stopped her. “Allow me,” he said quietly, moving to sit behind her. She felt the gentle brush of his fingers along her back, lips following close behind as he began undoing her buttons, letting the expensive fabric fall open to bare her skin to him.

She pulled her arms free of the sleeves, hair spilling loose over her bare breasts as Draco helped her stand and step out of her gown. He turned her in his arms, drawing her against his bare chest, breath catching at the feel of her nakedness pressed against his. Her arms wrapped around his ribcage, fingers trailing underneath his shirt and over the skin of his back, causing goosebumps to spring up wherever her fingers touched him. 

Not content to be alone in this sweet torture, Draco lowered his head to run his lips over her bare neck and shoulders before dropping to one knee, kissing the swell of her stomach, looking up at her with adoring eyes. Adoration quickly turned to lust, burning molten hot as he trailed his lips up her torso, kissing the tip of one breast and then the other; light, teasing kisses that had her trembling in anticipation.

She thought he would move to take her breasts into his mouth, but he surprised her, dragging his lips lower to kiss her through the sheer lace of her knickers. He darted his tongue out to lick lightly over where her clit was nestled in the folds of her body, forcing her to lean over and brace her hands against his strong shoulders as her nerves jumped and sizzled. 

His hands came up to firmly squeeze her arse, providing her support when he suddenly hiked one of her legs up over his shoulder, wandlessly vanishing her knickers before feasting on her exposed skin. He licked and sucked, desperately kissing her in her most sensitive, secret places until she was sobbing; body writhing and shaking with the force of her orgasm.

No sooner had she recovered from the intensity of sensation than Draco stood, quickly removing his remaining clothes and lifting her in his arms again. He laid her back down on the bed and stretched out beside her. He pulled her to him, kissing her with such burning passion that she felt she would combust.

Not content to just lie still while he did all the work, Hermione rolled so she was leaning over Draco, curls falling around their faces as she kissed him anew. She swung one leg over the top of his body, straddling him, teasing him as the heat of her center rested just over his straining erection.

She lowered herself slowly, sliding up and down his length, wetting him with her juices. He groaned loudly, capturing her hips in his hands and helplessly jerking his own hips underneath her.

“Holy fuck, Hermione,” he panted in her ear, biting gently at the spot beneath her jaw that never failed to make her eyes roll back in her head.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” she asked, not recognizing the huskiness of her voice but thrilling at the reaction on Draco’s face. 

“How do you want it, husband? Slow?” she rolled her body sinuously above him, dragging his erection through her folds. “Fast?” She lifted up onto her knees, grasping his cock in one hand and letting the very tip of him slip inside her wetness.

“Do you want to suck on my nipples while I fuck you?” she asked, pressing her breasts against him until he made a sound that was close to a whimper in the back of his throat. “Do you want me to lean back so you can watch your cock disappearing into my pussy?”

“Unngh—” was all Draco could manage as she lowered herself down onto him, starting a slow rhythm that built into a frantic, wild pace as she continued to whisper filthy words into his ear. His grip on her hips was punishing, making her feel completely wild but also firmly in control as he slowly came apart under her hands. She felt another orgasm building within her body, catching her by surprise with its force when she finally exploded above him.

He continued to piston his hips up into her; once, twice, three more times before shouting her name as he climaxed. He pulled her down on top of him, wrapping his arms firmly around her as she tucked her head under his chin, her ear against his chest to hear the thundering of his heart.

“I don’t know where you learned to say things like that,” he began, and she could hear the smile in his voice without needing to see his face, “but it was fucking hot as hell.”

“You bring out the best in me,” she laughed into his chest. “And I like it when you talk to me like that, too.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, tilting his head down to grin at her.

“Yeah,” she responded, reaching down to grasp his cock, which was already beginning to harden again, in a tight fist.

And she proceeded to show him just how much she liked it.

*****

Outside, the music played on, yet most of the guests had gone. 

Harry and Daphne swayed to a slow song, bodies pressed tightly together. Harry played with Daphne’s long hair, while her hands disappeared under the back of his suit jacket, sliding down to pinch his arse and make him laugh. Their lips met in a kiss, one that was sweet yet demanding—and which also had Val shifting in her seat, Theo noticed.

Theo had stayed close to Val all night, introducing her to the others in attendance at the surprise wedding. He silently admired the ease with which she conversed with new people and how she seemed right at home with his favorite group of misfits.

Val had bonded with Ron over the shared experience of being part of a large, noisy family. She had spoken with Neville about a particular species of mandrake that grew in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, and promised to send him a clipping of one as soon as she returned. She had laughed as she posed for a picture with Harry, letting him know she would officially earn the title of “coolest aunt” with her ten-year-old nephew who hero-worshipped the great Harry Potter. She had chatted with Luna about the difference between British crumple-horned snorkacks and Mexican chupacabras. She had giggled as she talked with Daphne and Pansy, looking at him enough during the conversation to convince him that she was sharing the embarrassing—and painful—way they had met. She had thrown her head back and laughed as Daphne supplied what Theo was sure were her own embarrassing stories of his childhood, and he had glared at his lifelong friend, who merely shrugged at him. She had held her own in a lively quidditch debate over dinner, and indulged James with tales of American magical creatures like the thunderbird, the snallygaster, and the wampus cat, all of which she had observed in person while working for MACUSA. 

And she had flirted with Theo, teasing and touching him all night until he was ready to throw her on the table and have his way with her. 

Now, he watched her as she watched the others, his blue eyes sharp and observant. Realizing his gaze was on her she turned, lifting an eyebrow at him. 

“Did you need something?” she asked silkily.

Theo grinned, feeling relaxed after several glasses of champagne and a delicious meal. “Maybe a dance?” he suggested.

“With you?” Val responded, and Theo delighted at the haughty look on her face. 

“Yes, with me. I find myself quite recovered from my earlier head injury,” Theo answered, standing smoothly and extending a hand. 

“Shame,” Val returned with a sultry smile, allowing him to lead her out under the open stars. “I think I liked you better that way.”

“Hmm,” Theo murmured as he spun her once, pulling her against him so her arse was snug against the front of his body. He slid his hands over her hips, bunching the fabric of her dress between his fingers when she pushed herself back into him.

She arched her back, grinding her bottom against him to the rhythm of the music, lifting her arms to wrap around the back of his neck. Dimly he registered Harry and Daphne taking their leave, but Val’s curves demanded his full attention. 

He dropped his head to trace the skin of her neck with his nose, breathing deeply and barely repressing a shudder at the smell of her perfume. 

She turned in his arms and he mourned the loss of her delicious arse pressed against him, but then her breasts were pushing into his chest and his erection was firm against her belly and her face was right there in front of him, lips a mere breath away from his. 

“Theo?” she whispered, and he wondered if he’d hit his head again. It was the only logical explanation for why he felt so absolutely out of his mind for someone he’d just met. 

“Valentina?” he whispered back, and saw the way she shivered. 

“I’m leaving England in a few months. I’m not looking for anything serious,” Val said, looking directly into his eyes in a way that he found more intimate and sexy than if she’d stripped naked right there on the lawn. “But I’m going to have sex with you tonight,” she continued, licking her lips.

“Yes, that’s definitely going to happen,” he replied, before swooping down to capture her lips with his. 

She opened to him, drawing his tongue inside her mouth, stroking it with her own, sucking on it until his knees felt weak. Merlin, if this was how witches kissed in America, he had been sorely missing out. 

His hands roved over her back, then boldly slipped lower to grip the juicy globes of her arse tightly, drawing twin moans from both of their throats. He jumped in surprise when he felt her hands return the favor, gripping the cheeks of his arse through his trousers and pulling him even more firmly against her as their tongues continued to slide and dance. 

Realizing that although they were the only ones left outside, they were fairly exposed, Theo pulled back from Valentina’s lush mouth, smiling when she pouted at him, pupils blown wide with lust. He tugged her hand and they hurried across the expanse of lawn until they were tucked up against a shadowy wall of the main house, under a small pergola covered in sweet-smelling jasmine. 

Valentina immediately pushed him up against the wall, kicking off her shoes and climbing his now much taller body like a tree. He lifted her, leaning back and allowing the wall to support them as he lost himself in their kiss. Val rocked against him, and he could feel the wet heat of her pussy grinding against his trousers. He needed to slow things down or he was going to embarrass himself. 

Setting her on her feet, he stepped behind her, moving her hands to brace herself against the wall. Then he dropped to his knees, lifting the fabric of her skirt up until her entire arse was exposed, the black lace of her thong peeking from between her cheeks. 

She panted heavily, looking back over her shoulder at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Theo said huskily, and he swore her knees shook. “Or I won’t be able to wait.”

And then he leaned forward, grazing her arse with his teeth, following each nip with a slow, sensual glide of his tongue. He worked closer and closer to her center, out of his mind at the smell of her; dewy folds just visible under the small scrap of black fabric. 

All his teasing had worked her into a right state; she was squirming and panting and rubbing her thighs together to provide the friction she was looking for. Theo nudged her legs a bit wider, gently massaging the skin of her arse before ripping her knickers off with one swift tug. She gasped, looking at him again over her shoulder. He caught the hot look in her eyes just before he dove in to claim his prize. 

He impaled her with his tongue, probing, licking, and sucking, nose pressed deep into the cleft of her backside. His hand came up to add to the torture; pinching and massaging her clit until she was sobbing. 

“Oh god, Theo—oh fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming,” she keened, knees shaking and cunt releasing a rush of liquid that coated his tongue. 

Theo stood, unbuttoning his trousers as he went. “Ready?” he asked, and she nodded, leaning on the wall for the support her legs were no longer able to provide. 

He wandlessly cast a contraception charm, then buried himself inside of her wet heat. He froze for a moment, trying to get control of his body as he was squeezed in the molten vice grip of her cunt before starting to move.

He leaned over her back, biting down on her shoulder as his hands came around her to grip her mound with both hands, firmly working her clit as he pounded into her from behind. She threw her head back onto his shoulder, and he lifted one hand up to squeeze her breast, pinching her nipple between two of his fingers. 

Unintelligible words—some in Spanish, he was sure—were flowing out of Valentina’s mouth. She thrashed her head against his shoulder, hair wild and skin flushed, and he captured her lips with his, plunging his tongue into her mouth. She came then; he felt her hot cunt milking him, and he lasted two more thrusts before exploding inside of her, her name torn from his throat on a hoarse cry.

“Holy shit,” Val breathed a moment later, letting her body relax fully against his chest.

“You can say that again,” Theo murmured, pulling out of her and quickly vanishing the mess they’d made with his wand. He pulled her dress down to cover her naked flesh before tucking himself back inside his trousers, looking up again to see her leaning back against the wall, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“That was…” she began, having to pause to clear her throat as her voice came out husky and strained. “That was unexpected,” she finished.

“In a good way?” Theo grinned, enjoying the way she looked after being thoroughly fucked.

“Definitely,” she replied, letting her eyes trail up and down his body in a way that made him want to throw her over his shoulder and head through the Floo for round two.

“Well, I do aim to please,” he drawled, reaching his hand out to gently take hers. “And it would greatly please me if you’d agree to have dinner with me sometime.”

Her eyes searched his face, and he silently prayed that she would not find him wanting. Despite his cockiness, he really would like to get to know this beautiful, interesting witch—who had just fucked him senseless, by the way—better.

“Alright,” she agreed, gifting him with a glorious smile. 

Hand in hand, they headed back into the house, Val flooing home to her flat after pulling him in for one last slow, drugging kiss. When Theo stepped through the floo to his own home, a stupid grin plastered on his face, he felt optimistic about his future for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fans self*
> 
> So yeah, all that happened.
> 
> To be honest, I was very nervous to write an original character. I hope you liked Valentina. I didn't want to just pair Theo off with a random canon character, and liked the idea of him being with someone who is so different than what he's used to: American, Latina, strong and feisty and not afraid of her own sexuality.
> 
> As for the girls' lunch, it was important to me to write these women as supportive and understanding of each other. In my mind, Harry and Ginny have been divorced for so long, and have moved past the point of being jealous or uncomfortable at the thought of their ex dating someone new.
> 
> And finally, the wedding. Sigh. I was also super nervous to write this particular scene. But this is the way I imagine (my version of) Draco and Hermione wanting it: their closest friends and family, in their new home, focused on them rather than the spectacle of a big society wedding. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> Again, if you'd like to see how I picture this world in my head, head over to my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/persephonestone) and [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/persephonestone2/).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds that Draco still has one or two tricks up his sleeve.
> 
> The gang celebrates Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you dearly for your comments and kudos. They make me so happy!
> 
> If you'd like to see this world, please come check out my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/persephonestone) and [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/persephonestone2/).

“Daph!” a voice called from the first floor of Grimmauld Place, waking Daphne from a wonderful dream she’d been having about a little baby with her hair and Harry’s bright green eyes. _Ugh,_ she thought, rubbing her eyes, _this is what happens when literally all my friends are pregnant at the same time._

“Daph!” the voice called again. She rolled over in Harry’s bed, blinking sleepily and pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the mattress. 

The bedroom door burst open and James came flying through. Daphne opened her arms to him and he launched himself at her, tumbling them both back onto the bed as he wrapped his skinny arms around her neck. 

“Auntie Luna had her baby!” he crowed happily, pushing her hair out of her face so he could see her eyes. “It’s a boy!” he added, rolling off of her and pumping his fists in the air. 

“How wonderful!” Daphne said, genuinely excited for her friends. She reached out to tickle James under one arm, and he giggled and squirmed away from her. 

Daphne sat up again, and noticed a shirtless Harry lounging in the doorway, a pair of cotton pajama pants riding low across his hip bones. He was carrying a breakfast tray for her, but it wasn’t the food that was making her mouth water. 

“Good morning,” he said in that deep voice she loved, crossing the room to her. 

She scooted back to lounge against the pillows, patting the spot beside her in invitation to James to share her breakfast. 

“Morning,” she replied, tilting her face up for Harry’s kiss as he deposited the tray in her lap. James made a face, but was otherwise silent as he nicked a piece of bacon off her tray, munching happily. 

“I hear congratulations are in order, uncle,” she said to Harry, who moved to sit near her feet. 

He smiled, nodding. “Apollo Arthur Weasley was born early this morning. He has bright red hair and a massive pair of lungs on him, according to his proud daddy.”

“Wonderful,” she repeated. She took a sip of her tea—prepared with two sugars and a splash of milk, just the way she liked it—and nibbled on her toast, enjoying both the good news and the simple pleasure of sharing breakfast with her boyfriend and his son.

“When are you guys going to have a baby?” James asked suddenly, with the blunt innocence only a five year old can pull off.

Harry went bright red, sputtering and stammering. It was quite adorable, in Daphne’s opinion, but she took pity on him and turned to James.

“Why do you think we would have a baby?” she asked, smoothing his wild black hair down where it stuck straight up from the back of his head.

“Well, because you love each other,” he said, shrugging. Then, less sure of himself: “Don’t you?” 

Daphne’s heart squeezed at the look on the young boy’s face. Despite Harry and Ginny’s solid co-parenting relationship, they had divorced long before James had been old enough to remember them together. It made sense that he would have questions about Daphne’s relationship with his father.

“James,” Harry began, gesturing for his son to crawl over and sit on his lap. James complied, snuggling into his father’s chest in a way that made Daphne’s insides feel funny. “I love Daphne,” he said over James’ head, holding Daphne’s eyes as he said the words for the first time. “Someday soon, I am going to ask her to marry me. I would love to have more children, because I know that you will be an amazing big brother. But,” he pulled back, looking James in the eye, making sure he understood, “I would never do any of that without talking to you first. Daphne would be agreeing to be part of _both_ of our lives, not just mine, and I wouldn't want to hurt or upset you by doing something you weren’t comfortable with,” he finished, leaning forward to kiss James on the forehead.

“Thanks Dad,” James said sweetly. “But I really love Daph, too.” He turned and grinned at her. “She’s nice, and she plays with me, and she makes really good brownies.” 

Daphne blinked, tears threatening to overflow her eyes and spill down her cheeks. “Thanks, love,” she managed. “I love your daddy very much, too,” she added for Harry, placing her hand over his. “And whenever he asks me, I’d be honored to be a part of this family. I’ll never try to take the place of your mummy, but I love you both too much to be without you,” she said, and was rewarded with another bear hug from James.

That evening, when Harry had taken James back to Ginny’s place, Daphne busied herself with tidying up the small room Harry had converted into an art studio for her. She placed brushes back into their designated containers, bottles of ink and paint inside the carefully arranged cabinet, special drawing pencils and paper in neat arrangements on her desk. She headed into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, and found Harry arriving back through the floo as she entered the room.

“Hi,” she said, feeling a bit shy after their confessions that morning.

“Hi,” he returned, striding forward to grasp her hips in his hands.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, not wanting to ask but not being able to stop herself.

“Which part?” Harry answered, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “The part where I love you? Yes,” he breathed, murmuring low in her ear. “The part where I am going to ask you to marry me? Oh, yes,” he continued, kissing her neck. “The part where I want to have children with you? Make love to you every night until your belly grows round with my child, and everyone knows without a doubt that Daphne Greengrass belongs to Harry Potter, and he belongs to her?” he finished, running his hands lightly up and down her body, hitting every erogenous zone she possessed.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, dizzy with need for him. “I love you, too.”

The rest of what she was going to say was cut off by his kiss, desperate and passionate. Her body was set on fire by his hands and mouth, her heart pounding so hard with the love she felt for this man that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had beaten out of her chest.

He gripped her arse firmly in both hands, lifting her so her legs could wrap around his waist as he moved to the stairs. He climbed slowly, only taking his lips from hers to murmur filthy things against her skin, telling her what he wanted to do to her. 

Finally they made it to the bedroom, Harry setting her on her feet just inside the door. She pushed his chest, sending him backwards toward the bed with a commanding, “Sit.”

He did, scrambling back to lean against the headboard, kicking his shoes off to thump loudly on the floor. 

Daphne strutted toward him, letting her hips sway as her fingers moved over the buttons of her shirt; one of Harry’s old button-downs that she wore when she painted. His eyes followed her movements, hypnotized. 

“Like what you see?” she asked in a low voice, letting the shirt fall open to reveal the black lace of her bra beneath it. He nodded mutely, tongue flicking out to lick his lips as the shirt fell to the ground. 

When she was almost to the bed she stopped, turning, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of the black leggings she wore. She looked back at Harry over her shoulder as she bent forward, peeling the leggings slowly down her legs. The groan that came from behind her sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. 

She joined him on the bed, climbing his body to straddle his hips, allowing him to capture her lips once more in a primal kiss. She ground herself against him, feeling her bra come undone under his nimble fingers. Then he was tearing his mouth away from hers, hands palming her breasts and pushing his face into them, mouth moving to briefly suck one nipple into his mouth before shifting his attention to the other. 

Realizing he was still completely clothed, Daphne gathered his shirt in both her hands, giving a sharp tug that sent his buttons flying. She laughed at the expression on his face as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, relishing the feel of her bare breasts against his chest. She rubbed against him like a cat and heard his breath catch in his throat. 

Slithering her way down his body, she made quick work of his trousers and boxer briefs, yanking them down his legs and allowing him to kick free. She moved to help him with the leg of his jeans that had become stuck on his foot, then yelped in surprise when she felt his hands grab her hips, pulling her backward so she was facing away from him, straddling his legs. 

Daphne felt her knickers being pulled down slowly over the curve of her arse, and shivered as Harry’s breath ghosted over her flesh. “You have the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen,” he breathed into her, dropping soft kisses over her skin. “If I had half the talent you do, it’s all I’d ever paint.”

“Well what about this cock, Mr. Potter?” she responded, shifting back further so she could grasp her prize in one hand. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is why you’re called the Chosen One.” She leaned down to suck lightly on the tip, and Harry’s hands convulsed around her hips. 

“Fuck, I want you so badly,” Harry growled, pulling her back further and arranging her body so that they were laying torso to torso, knees spread and heads arranged in a most convenient manner.

“Then have me,” she replied, leaning down once more to take him in her mouth. She swirled her tongue, bobbing her head up and down his impressive length. A moment later she cried out around his cock as she felt his tongue probe her wet folds, hands holding her hips firmly in place as he feasted on her. 

She increased her attention to him, using one hand to fondle the velvety sac between his legs as her other hand worked in tandem with her mouth. Soon his hips were jerking involuntarily beneath hers, and it was becoming nearly impossible to focus on what she was doing, seeing as he was fucking her senseless with his tongue and fingers. 

She flew over the edge of her orgasm, pulling off of him to cry out at its force. Barely giving her time to recover, he flipped her onto her back, climbing on top of her and pulling both her legs up to rest on his shoulders. He entered her slowly, allowing her time to adjust to the position and his size before increasing the pace of his thrusts to fuck her deep into the mattress. She cradled his face in her hands, keening at his touch as she felt another orgasm building. 

“Gods Harry—yes—don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she whimpered, feeling lights burst behind her eyes and sizzle through her veins as her walls contracted around him. She dimly heard him shout her name as he followed closely after her. 

After an indeterminable period of time—it could have been minutes or hours, for all Daphne knew—Harry sat back against the headboard once more, gathering her into his arms. “I wanted to wait to do this,” he said, breathing harshly. “I had it all planned out. But after listening to Hermione at her wedding last month, I find that I can’t wait. That I have to listen to my heart instead.”

He leaned over to rummage inside the drawer of his nightstand, and when he sat back up he was holding a small velvet box. “I have James’s permission to do this, by the way,” he said with a smile, and she laughed, tears in her eyes. 

“Daphne Rose Greengrass,” he began, “I know we’ve only been together for three months. But I have never been so sure of anything in my life as I am of this simple fact: I love you. I want nothing more in life than to make you happy, and if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every day doing my very best to make sure that—”

“Yes,” she cut him off, not being able to wait any longer. 

“Uh—pardon?” Harry asked, blinking at her.

“I’ll let you,” she replied. “I want to marry you.”

“Ah,” he said, face breaking into a huge grin. “Can you at least let me officially ask you?” he joked. 

“I suppose,” she replied primly, grinning back at him. 

“Daphne,” he said, and all of a sudden it wasn’t funny. It was the most important thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she breathed again, gasping as he opened the ring box and slid a huge, cushion-cut diamond with a simple gold band onto her finger. It fit perfectly. 

He kissed her tenderly, and they lay back against the pillows, her ring sparkling as her hand traced sleepy circles across his bare chest.

*****

Married life suited Hermione and Draco.

For two people who had spent the majority of their adult lives alone, they adjusted surprisingly well to cohabitation. 

They ate breakfast together every morning in the kitchen at the wide marble island, met for lunch most days of the week in Hermione’s office, and cooked dinner together every night. 

They spent lazy weekends in their pajamas on the plush chairs and couches in the living room, reading books or watching the muggle telly while Draco rubbed Hermione’s feet or she absently stroked his head as it lay in her lap. 

Together they watched her belly grow larger, marveling at the feel of their baby kicking inside of her. The first time it happened, they had both burst into astonished tears and immediately owled their parents. 

Draco was the most attentive husband and father; rubbing Hermione’s back when it ached, finding her more pillows to ensure she slept comfortably, bringing her snacks and tea before she even realized she was hungry or thirsty. He spoke to her belly regularly, telling their baby about his day, the weather, or how brilliant their mother was. 

On Christmas morning, before they hosted a luncheon for all their friends and family, Draco presented Hermione with a large box, suspiciously free of any wrapping. She lifted the lid to find two small kittens inside, snuggled up in a blanket and purring loudly as they slept. 

“I read that they do better if they have a partner,” Draco said in explanation, looking shy as he waited for her reaction. 

“Don’t we all?” she mused, pulling him down for a kiss. “What shall we name them, then?” she asked, lifting the small black kitten out to cuddle it against her chest. 

Draco looked hesitant, having never owned a pet before—unless you counted the peacocks at the Manor, which Hermione decidedly did _not_ —so she lifted out the other kitten, a silvery gray tabby, and placed it in Draco’s arms. It opened its sleepy blue eyes, yawned once, and went back to sleep. 

“Well, they’re brothers, so maybe...Thor and Loki?” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been reading too many comic books,” she teased. 

“Lennon and McCartney?” Draco suggested. 

“Not brothers,” Hermione responded. 

“Close enough,” Draco grumbled, pouting that his muggle suggestion had been turned down. 

“Zeus and Hades?” he said a moment later, snapping his fingers and pointing at her. “You know that’s a good suggestion.”

“Hmm,” she said, stroking the silky black fur of the kitten on her lap. “I like it. I think this one has to be Hades, lord of the underworld, don’t you think?”

He nodded solemnly, lifting the silvery kitten into the air dramatically. “And this will be Zeus, god of lightning and king of cats!” 

She laughed, then summoned the present she had bought him from under the massive Christmas tree they had set up in the foyer of their home. It was a small parcel, wrapped beautifully in deep emerald paper and tied with a red bow. 

“This is for you,” she said, handing him the gift. 

He unwrapped it eagerly, then threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so long and so hard that tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and little Zeus crawled off his lap in protest, mewling grumpily as he found a quieter spot to sleep. 

Hermione, confused at his reaction, reached over to lightly punch him in the arm. “What’s so funny?” she asked, “That is a collector’s edition set of books by my favorite children’s author, for you to read to our children.”

Draco quickly collected himself, reaching to draw her hand between his. “I’m not laughing because I don’t love this gift. I do, it’s the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss. “It’s just—you see—oh, it’s easier to just show you,” he added, standing and pulling her to her feet. 

She followed him down the long hallway to his office, walking across the threshold and over to his mahogany desk. He gestured for her to wait as he walked to the bookshelves lining one wall, pushing gently against a decorative ceramic vase until she heard a click, and then watched in disbelief as the entire shelf rotated out, revealing rows and rows of files. 

“Um, why do you have a secret bookcase in your office, Draco?” she asked suspiciously.

“So I can prevent people from finding out about my secret identity,” he answered, pulling a few files off the shelf and bringing them over to her.

“Ha, ha,” she responded, but the words died in her throat as she looked at the papers in front of her.

Draco’s handwriting spilled over the parchment, along with the red ink of someone’s edits. She recognized the story as one of H.D. Rue’s. She turned to the other file, finding more of the same.

Draco didn’t stop her when she walked to the rest of the hidden files, flipping through them carefully to see his handwriting on every sheet of parchment, spelling out the words of the children’s stories she knew so well.

She turned back to find him leaning against his desk, smiling fondly at her.

“Secret identity,” she repeated, recalling his earlier words. “Your secret identity. These pages. Are you...H.D. Rue?”

He stood, bowing formally to her before answering. “One and the same,” he answered. Then, more gently: “Are you angry with me?”

Hermione laughed, clapping her hands over her eyes at the ridiculousness of her Christmas present for Draco. “No, I’m not angry. I am just in shock, to be quite honest.” 

She felt him move, taking two quick strides across the room until he had her in his arms, kissing her hands until she removed them from her face. She pouted at him, and he laughed, dropping one more kiss to her lips.

“How?” she asked, encompassing the million questions she had in that one word.

“Well,” he began, leaning his forehead against hers. “After the war, you taught me so much about muggles and muggle-borns that I had never known before; that if I had known, might have helped me not be the massive prat that I was at Hogwarts. Might have made me never listen to all that nonsense or take the Dark Mark.” He sighed before continuing, “I felt like I had a responsibility to share some of that knowledge with other young witches and wizards, especially pureblood children who are totally ignorant of anything to do with muggles. Plus, I’ve always enjoyed writing,” he added with a shrug, and she could tell he was feeling a bit self-conscious at his confession.

“Draco,” she said, “I am so proud of you.”

His eyes shot to hers, and a hesitant smile appeared on his face. “You are?” he asked, voice hopeful and soft. “You’re really not angry?”

“No, I’m not angry,” she said. “In fact, this is an even better Christmas gift than little Zeus and Hades,” she added, kissing him sweetly. “I should have known there was a reason I loved these books so much; I can’t help but love everything about you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said. “I just couldn’t seem to find the right time. Luckily you solved that problem for me,” he added with a smile.

Hermione looked back at the files once more, seeing the author’s name on the front. “Why did you choose to use an alias?” she asked.

He snorted. “Do you think anyone would buy a children’s book written by a former Death Eater? I certainly wouldn’t. But a sweet older lady? She sells millions of them,” he said with a wink.

“Millions?” she echoed in disbelief, and his grin stretched even wider.

“As I said, Granger,” he replied with a shrug, “I could afford this house. In fact, I can afford several more just like it, from Rue’s royalties alone.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open, not fully understanding the extent of his revelation until now. “These books are bestsellers! They’ve been translated into dozens of different languages!” 

He nodded, preening at the praise.

“I need to sit down,” Hermione said, and he steered her to the leather chair sitting behind his desk.

He sat on the desk next to her, legs swinging as he waited for her mind to finish racing.

“Did you choose the name?” she finally asked, and he nodded in response. “What does it mean?”

“Well,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Rue is a type of flower, in honor of Pansy, who encouraged me to write. It’s also a word that means ‘regret,’” he added quietly.

She reached for him, placing her hand on his leg and squeezing. He shot her a grateful smile, happy to know that she understood without him having to say any more.

“And H.D...um, stands for ‘Hermione Draco,’” he mumbled quickly, blushing.

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. “That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard!” she added, wiping away happy tears. He made a face at her, but joined in her laughter. 

“It could also stand for ‘Harry’s a Dick,’” he said with one of his trademark smirks. “On second thought, that’s definitely what it stands for.” 

Hermione just laughed, shaking her head at him.

“I have one last question, and then we should go get ready for the party,” she said after a moment, standing to take him in her arms, grateful for the trust he had shown her that morning. 

“Alright,” he said softly, rubbing his hands possessively over the swell of her stomach.

“Did you do the illustrations?” she asked.

“Ah, no,” he answered with a smile. “Those are Daphne’s work. Until this morning, she and my editor in New York were the only other people who knew my secret.”

Hermione smiled, delighted at the revelation. She gathered the files on Draco’s desk, carefully placing them back into the hidden filing cabinet in the bookshelf. He came up behind her to push the ceramic vase, securing his secret once more.

“Thank you for a lovely Christmas,” he said in her ear. “Even though I know those books by heart, it will be very special for me to read them to our baby. To see them through their eyes.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, leaning back against him.

*****

Several hours and many delicious dishes later, they sat with their friends in their large living room, a fire burning warmly in the hearth and Christmas music playing softly over the wizarding radio.

James and Juno sat on the floor with Zeus and Hades, giggling in delight as the kittens batted at ribbons from discarded presents. Luna sat nearby in a deep armchair, nursing little Apollo and chatting animatedly with Theo about the best type of Christmas pudding.

Pansy sampled each type of said pudding, plates balanced expertly on her pregnant belly. She had only about a month more to go until she and Neville met their own baby, with Hermione and Draco a month behind that. 

Daphne sat in another armchair, Harry on the floor at her feet, his head resting against her legs as her fingers combed through his messy hair, eyes closed in sedated bliss. 

Neville and Ron played a rousing game of wizard’s chess on the coffee table, and Ginny and Miles watched them, cheering Neville and booing Ron with each move. 

Val sat close to Theo, sneaking glances at him from time to time. Hermione watched from her place near the fire, ever observant, and smiled to see Theo reach out to take Val’s hand in his. Val blushed, but dropped her head onto his shoulder in response. 

“I think those two like each other,” Draco whispered in her ear. 

She leaned into him, resting her head back against his chest. “Tell me about it,” she said. “I have to spend every day at work answering questions about him that she thinks are subtle. They are not,” she added, smiling as she felt his chest rumble with laughter.

“Theo told me he doesn’t want to get attached because she’s returning to the United States soon,” Draco said, gently playing with Hermione’s curls in a way that made it hard for her to follow the conversation. She was lulled by her full stomach, the warm fire, and the hands of her husband.

“If we could find our way to each other after being so stupid for so long, anything is possible,” she murmured sleepily, cuddling closer to him as her eyelids drifted slowly shut.

“Indeed,” she heard him say as she drifted off.

*****

“We didn’t find out the sex of the babies either time,” Luna was saying, feet propped up in front of the Malfoys’ fire and a mug of hot cocoa in her hand. “Not until the Healer plopped then on my chest.”

Ron chuckled from where he was stretched out on one of the large sofas in the room, Apollo asleep on his chest. Juno was curled up at the other end of the couch, fast asleep with a warm blanket tucked under her chin, snoring softly. 

“Ginny and I knew we were having a boy,” Harry supplied, gesturing to his son, who was asleep on Daphne, his little head in her lap. Ginny and Miles had left already; James had spent Christmas Eve night with his mum so would spend tonight with Harry and Daphne. “Although I would still love to have a daughter,” he added, the devotion on his face clear for all to see. Daphne beamed at him, and continued stroking James’s back. 

“I’ll be happy either way,” Neville said, sipping a glass of warm brandy and trailing his fingers over Pansy’s belly. Like Hermione, she was also fast asleep, curled onto her side with her head on a pillow that rested in Neville’s lap. “Might be nice to have a house full of little Pansys, though,” he said after a moment. 

Theo choked on his own brandy. “More like terrifying,” he said in mock horror. 

“Sure,” Neville agreed easily. “But think how fierce they’d be.”

“I stand by my original assessment,” Theo said, winking at Neville. 

“We haven’t found out either,” Draco said, gesturing to Hermione sleeping on the sofa beside him. “I wanted to, but Hermione convinced me that it’s one of life’s only true surprises. And you know, something about not planning out every aspect of our lives, because we all saw how well that has worked for us,” he added with a laugh, toasting his sleeping wife. 

“Doesn’t your family kind of have a tradition of having only one male heir per generation?” Ron asked from the couch, turning to look in Draco’s direction. 

Draco nodded. “Yes. Male, pale blonde hair, pointy face, shite attitude,” he said, making Ron laugh. “I could do without any of those traditions from now on, though.”

Luna raised her mug in a toast. “Fuck tradition!” she cheered, and the others echoed her, raising their own glasses. 

Val sat quietly, watching them all as they fell into a companionable silence. Then she ventured a question, directing it towards Ron and Luna. “What changes most when you become a parent?” 

“Sleep,” Ron answered immediately. “Or rather lack of it.”

Luna smiled at her husband, her pale blonde hair shimmering prettily in the glow of the fire. “Yes, that,” she said. “But also everything, really. Your body, for one. It has just spent almost a year growing another human being, skin stretching and organs shifting. Many people think it all just goes back to normal after the baby comes, but it never really does. What is ‘normal,’ anyway?” she asked rhetorically. 

“I like your body, love,” Ron said sweetly, and Luna smiled back at him. 

“You like the size of my breasts,” she teased, and Ron shrugged, conceding the point.

“Your marriage changes,” Luna continued, looking into the fire. “Before it was just the two of you, but now there’s a whole other person you’re responsible for. Who depends on you for everything. It can be easy to unintentionally neglect your husband or wife as you’re figuring out your new role as mum or dad.”

Harry shifted, moving to sit next to Daphne and lace their fingers together. Perhaps Luna’s words hit a bit close to home for him. Draco and Neville absorbed her wisdom in silence, no doubt imagining how they could prevent that from happening to them. 

“And _you_ change,” Luna finished. “Your entire identity. It can be a challenge to wrap your head around. You’re still _you_ , but you’re also _more._ It’s really quite lovely, once you get used to it,” she said, sipping her hot cocoa. 

“Wow,” Val said after a beat of silence. “That was an incredible answer, Luna. Thank you,” she said, and truly meant it. 

“Happy to share my wisdom,” Luna replied, winking. 

“You’re lucky to have her, mate,” Theo said to Ron, reaching over to pat Luna’s shoulder. 

Ron looked at Luna, the woman whom everyone had been surprised he had fallen in love with, saying what an odd pair they made. “I tell her that every day,” Ron said quietly, letting his adoration for his quirky, wonderful wife fill his face. 

“That he does,” Luna said. 

Val stood quickly, collecting empty glasses and some scraps of wrapping paper and mumbling an excuse about cleaning up. She made a beeline out of the room toward the kitchens. 

Theo watched her go, then looked to Draco, clearly desperate for a clue as to what he should do. 

“What are you looking at me for?” Draco drawled. “Why don’t you just put us all out of our bloody misery and go after her?” he teased gently, echoing Theo’s own words to Hermione from all those months ago. 

Theo scowled, but stood and hurried after Val. 

He found her in the kitchens, rinsing and drying glasses in a way that was sure to make Poppy cry. He came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, surprised to feel them tremble under his touch. He reached to turn off the water in the sink, turning her to face him as he drew back. Tears streamed down her beautiful face.

“Valentina,” he said quietly, brushing them away with his fingertips. “Why are you crying?”

“Because,” she said, as if that answered his question. 

“Because…?” he repeated, the word lifting at the end to form a question. 

“Because I’m stupid,” she said, and now she sounded angry. “Because I knew I was only here for a short time, and then I would be leaving. Because I have worked my ass off to get to where I am in my career, and don’t want to give it up.” She swiped at her eyes with her fingers as more hot tears spilled over. 

“Because I knew that getting involved with you was dangerous, but then you fucked me until I forgot everything I thought I knew, and you made me laugh, and you had long, nuanced conversations with me about everything from magical law to the curriculum changes you’d make at Hogwarts and Ilvermorny,” she continued, jabbing her finger into his chest with every addition to her list. 

“Because the case I’m working on with Hermione will be ending in just a few weeks,” she said, and now her voice was broken, sounding so sad that Theo’s chest ached. “And I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave England, I don’t want to leave all these new friends I’ve made, and—” she broke off, searching his face. “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered. 

Theo’s heart leaped inside of his chest. “Then don’t,” he said, cradling her face in his hands.

“It’s not that simple—” she began, but Theo cut her off. 

“It is exactly that simple,” he responded, kissing her forehead before dropping his hands and beginning to pace. 

“Look at all our friends out there,” he said, gesturing toward the room they had just left. “Do you think a single one of them planned to end up together? To get married? To have children? No,” he answered, gaining momentum. “Harry was supposed to be with Ginny. Hermione was supposed to be with Ron. Draco was supposed to marry Pansy, or maybe Daphne’s sister Astoria. Neville was supposed to marry, I don’t know, a tree or something. Luna probably planned to elope with a centaur. But it’s like Hermione said: they all listened to their hearts instead.”

“What is _your_ heart telling you, Val?” he asked, suddenly halting his pacing and turning to grasp her hands. 

She looked at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Come now, my love,” he whispered, and her eyes flew to his. “Be brave,” he added, and lifted her hands for a kiss. 

“My heart is telling me that I love you,” she whispered back to him. “But my job—”

“You know, it’s quite funny. They actually have jobs here too,” he responded immediately. 

“And my family?” 

“Portkeys are a quick and easy way to travel internationally.”

“And your family?”

“All dead, thankfully.”

“And our friends?”

“They love you, naturally. You won them over with your bewitching smile, quidditch knowledge, and tales of North American magical creatures.”

“And you?”

“And me.”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do, you silly woman.”

And he pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day! The timing of this chapter is a happy coincidence; not only did Ron and Luna become parents to a baby boy in this chapter, but the real-life Ron also just became a father! Big congrats to Rupert Grint and his gf.
> 
> I hope you liked Draco's surprise, Luna's wisdom, and Theo's arguments for why Val should stay. Oh, and the Haphne sweetness and smut. ;)
> 
> Leave me your thoughts and questions in the comments!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A(nother) baby is born, a(nother) wedding is planned, and a(nother) character comes to the rescue of the person they love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Just one more chapter after this. Thank you, as always, for all your lovely comments.
> 
> Fair warning for this chapter: Harry likes to talk dirty. Be prepared to blush.

Hazel Victoria Longbottom was born on a dark and stormy night in mid-January, the howling of the wind just barely louder than Pansy’s screams as she brought her daughter into the world. 

Draco and Hermione visited the exhausted new parents a few days later, once they had been discharged from St. Mungo’s and returned to Longbottom House. They came bearing gifts: the full set of H.D. Rue’s children’s books for the baby and a bottle of fine French champagne for the new parents. 

Pansy glowed from where she rested in her and Neville’s large four-poster bed, tracing the curve of Hazel’s cherubic cheek before allowing Neville to take her. He carried his daughter over to where Draco and Hermione sat on a loveseat near the fire, proudly showing off her inky black curls and tiny pink fingers. 

“Oh, Neville,” Hermione breathed. “She’s perfect.”

Neville beamed at them, looking at his daughter with awe. “I can’t believe I helped make her,” he said softly. “Pansy did all the hard work,” he amended, which earned him a loving look from his wife, “but I reckon there’s a bit of me in there, too.”

A light tap at the door signaled Harry and Daphne’s arrival. They greeted Pansy with kisses on the cheek and then made a beeline for Neville and Hazel, exclaiming over how beautiful she was. 

Neville offered to let them hold her, turning to Draco first. Draco blanched, but was met with insistence and reassurance from everyone assembled. 

“You’ll be holding your own baby soon,” Pansy scolded gently.

“It’s okay, just support her head,” Harry instructed, enjoying his role as the seasoned parent of the group. 

Hermione leaned into her husband, one hand supportively rubbing his back while her other hand rested on her belly, heavy with their child. He looked down in amazed disbelief at the tiny miracle in his arms. 

Neville smiled down at his baby daughter in the arms of his former childhood bully and somehow current friend. It wasn’t lost on any of them how much work it had taken for this kind of trust to be built. For how precious and hard-fought all of their relationships were. 

Hazel was passed carefully to each of her aunties and uncles in turn, until she started fussing and sucking on one of her tiny fists. 

“She’s hungry, Mummy,” Daphne cooed, returning the precious bundle back to Pansy’s arms, where she quickly burrowed into Pansy’s breast and began nursing greedily. Pansy winced, breasts tender and unused to a baby’s needs, but visibly relaxed after a few minutes. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Draco,” she said, looking up at him fondly. “Neville and I had a favor to ask of you.”

“Pans, you know I’d do anything for you,” Draco returned. He thought for a moment, then added: “Within reason, of course.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at him. “You have been one of my best friends since we were children. You helped me so much after the war, finding me a sponsor for the muggle program and even dragging me along one night to a dinner with all your new Gryffindor friends. A dinner where you introduced me to my husband, who is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me.” 

Neville moved to sit next to Pansy, legs stretched out beside her and arm gently coming around her shoulders, doing his best not to jostle little Hazel, who had finished eating and was now sound asleep in her mother’s arms. 

“I can never thank you enough for all you did for me over the years, Draco,” Pansy continued, voice thick with emotion. “But I—we,” she amended, sharing a warm look with Neville, “would be so happy if you would agree to be Hazel’s godfather.”

Draco stared back at the new parents, torn between disbelief and joy. “Are you sure?” he asked after a long beat of silence. 

“Quite sure,” Neville responded, and Pansy nodded tearily. 

“Then I would be honored,” Draco answered solemnly, striding to shake Neville’s hand and drop a kiss on both Pansy and Hazel’s foreheads. “I will teach her everything she needs to know to be sorted into Slytherin,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at the others. 

“On second thought...” Neville joked. 

“And Daph,” Pansy said, ignoring her husband and Draco, “you’ve been my best friend since we met in the Slytherin common room when we were eleven years old. You were always the sweet to my sour, and the person I’ve most looked up to and admired all these years...or at least, until I became friends with Granger,” she teased. “Will you be Hazel’s godmother, Daphne?”

Daphne squealed with joy, rushing over to flop down on Pansy’s other side, wrapping her arms around her friend and new goddaughter. “As if I would let you ask anyone else,” she replied. “Oh, you’re definitely going to be in Slytherin,” she whispered to Hazel, causing Neville to drop his face into his hands.

They all visited for a little while longer, until Neville suggested that Pansy needed to eat and rest, and gently ushered them to the floo. 

No sooner had Harry and Daphne arrived back at Grimmauld Place than Daphne turned to Harry and leaped on him, knocking him back onto the blue velvet sofa in their living room.

He enthusiastically returned her kiss, chasing her lips with his as her fingers tangled in his hair. “What’s this about?” he asked when they came up for air several minutes later, touching her swollen lips with his fingers and groaning when she sucked two of them into her mouth.

“Watching you with a baby,” she panted, grasping his hands and placing them under her shirt to cup her breasts. “It made me incredibly turned on,” she whispered in his ear, replacing her breath with her tongue.

Harry laughed, lifting her arms so he could remove her shirt, dipping his head to kiss the top of one breast, then the other, teasing her nipples with his mouth until she was grinding helplessly against him, core rocking against the thick hardness inside his jeans.

“I’m serious,” she said, hating that she sounded so whiny and desperate, but not being able to control herself. “I love watching you be a father. You are so gentle, so kind, so good.” Her breath caught as his hand worked its way between her legs, rewarding her praise with firm strokes of his fingers against her clit.

“The thought of having your babies, of watching you hold something you and I made, of you taking care of me like Neville takes care of Pansy,” she gasped, throwing her head back so her words echoed off the ornately plastered ceiling, “it just makes me lose my mind,” she finished weakly.

Harry stood, placing Daphne away from him as he unbuttoned his jeans in record speed. He made quick work of her remaining clothing as well, pulling off her black wool trousers and shuddering when he saw that she hadn’t been wearing any knickers. He shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down to his ankles, pulling his jumper over his head and sitting back down on the couch. He beckoned to her, and she flew to him, straddling his body and rubbing herself against his bare, muscled chest.

“You make me crazy,” he murmured in her ear, squeezing her arse firmly as he ground his erection against her core, letting her feel just how much she affected him. “Feel how fucking hard you make me, Daphne? No one else has ever done it like this. Only you,” he grunted, punctuating each statement with a thrust of his hips against her. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” she whimpered, desperate for him.

“Yes, fuck,” he responded, sliding his fingers down the cleft of her arse to tease her cunt from behind, moving her hips against him so she slid back and forth over his cock. “It’s all I can think about most days. I’ll be sitting in my office, trying to concentrate on paperwork, and the next thing I know I’m having to lock my door and have a furious wank because I’ve started fantasizing about your arse, your tits, your cunt. About you sucking my cock and letting me come all over your tits. About laying you out across my desk and spreading these gorgeous legs wide so I can lick your pussy.”

She panted, out of her mind with lust, rubbing furiously against his cock as his words made her heart rate spike.

He pulled her face down to his for a kiss, wild yet gentle as he lovingly stroked her cheeks, her hair, her back. “And then other days, I can’t stop thinking about how much I love you. How you are the best woman I could ask for to be a second mother to James. How you will be such a wonderful mother to our own children, and the most glorious pregnant goddess the world has ever seen,” he murmured gently, finally lifting her hips and sliding inside of her, both their eyes closing in ecstasy.

Tears sprang to her eyes at his words, which continued as she started to move over him. “Jesus, Daphne,” he panted hoarsely, holding her head tightly between his hands, staring into her eyes as he spoke. “I love you so much. I can’t imagine living a single day without you. I would marry you right now if I didn’t have to stop making love to you.”

“Harry,” she sobbed, “I love you. I can’t wait to marry you. Just don’t...stop...fucking...me.”

“Never,” he growled back, increasing the pace of his thrusts, pounding up into her until she screamed, back arching, tears streaming down her cheeks, orgasm ripping through her. Harry bit down on the skin of her throat as he came, spilling himself deep inside her.

They collapsed together onto the sofa, their breathing harsh and uneven and their bodies soaked with sweat.

“I can’t wait to visit Draco and Hermione when their baby is born next month,” Harry joked, and Daphne laughed, giving his shoulder a light shove.

“Harry?” she asked quietly, feeling more self-conscious now that the heat of passion had been reduced to a warm glow rather than a raging inferno.

“Yes, Daph?” he answered, stroking her back gently. 

“When _do_ you want to get married?” she said.

He thought for a moment, continuing to absently run his fingers over her soft, bare skin. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d marry you now. But I’m willing to wait as long as it takes to give you the wedding you deserve. I know these things take time to plan.”

She smiled, turning her head to kiss his chest. “I rather liked the small wedding that Draco and Hermione had. And our parents…” she trailed off, not needing to say any more. 

Daphne’s parents had fled the country after the war, leaving her behind to take care of her younger sister _and_ the Greengrass estate. Luckily for her, Draco had asked her to illustrate his surprisingly successful books, or she would have had to sell the family estate long ago. As it was, she hadn’t seen her parents since that fateful day ten years ago, and had only received word of their deaths in a boating accident six months after it actually happened. So she and Harry were both effectively orphaned, not having any close family other than James, Daphne’s sister Astoria, and their group of friends.

“Small could be good,” Harry replied, smiling into her hair. 

“We could have it at Greengrass Manor,” she continued, picturing it in her mind. “Although we should probably rename it Potter Manor, since I’ll be a Potter soon.” She smiled, growing excited as she imagined the wedding: Harry and James in tuxedos, her in a flowing gown, their friends’ children as flower girls and ring bearers.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, although he sounded pleased at the thought.

“I want to,” she replied, sitting up and looking at him. “I want to be your family. I want to share everything with you—the good and the bad. You’re it for me, Harry.”

She climbed off of him, pulling him to his feet so they could head upstairs and have a shower. 

“Plus,” she said, turning to grin at him as they reached their bathroom, “you know James will just die when he finds out he can live next to a lake with a kelpie.”

“That definitely settles it,” Harry agreed. 

*****

Draco and Hermione’s return home was less eventful. 

Hermione had reached the stage of her pregnancy that reduced all movement to a waddle, her mood swinging wildly from frazzled to nervous to grumpy to elated. She was constantly hungry, but everything she ate gave her horrible heartburn. She couldn’t sleep; waking in the middle of the night several times to use the toilet, then tossing and turning for at least an hour until she finally fell back into fitful slumber. And when she did manage to sleep, she had strange dreams, ones where she and Draco started a flobberworm sanctuary or moved to Brazil.

Through all her mood swings, food cravings, and bouts of sleep deprivation, Draco was there for her. And this day was no exception; he helped her remove her shoes and get comfortable on their bed before drawing a warm bath.

As the tub filled, Draco re-entered their bedroom, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and then helping Hermione undress. He swung her up into his arms, dismissing her protests that she could walk on her own with a quiet, “Hush, Granger.”

He lowered her into the tub, using his wand to twist her hair up onto the top of her head. The warm water sent small tendrils of it spiraling back down onto her shoulders.

Reaching for the bar of sweetly scented soap, Draco worked his hands into a lather, gesturing for Hermione to sit back so he could massage her sore muscles. She complied, moaning low in her throat as his talented hands worked their way over her shoulders, up her neck, down her back.

“You are too good to me,” she said, raising her knees out of the water and letting her head rest on them as he stroked the sore muscles of her back.

“Not possible,” he responded easily.

She huffed out a laugh. “I have been such a beast lately,” she continued after a moment, luxuriating in his touch. “I’m sorry,” she added quietly.

His hands stopped their work, fingers moving to turn her face toward him. “Hermione,” his deep voice said in her ear, and she opened her eyes to see his silver ones looking back at her, such fondness in their depths that it made her heart squeeze.

“Hermione,” he repeated, kissing her gently. “You are making another human being. It is completely normal and okay that you’re not enjoying every moment. Luna assured me this was the hardest stage, because you’re so uncomfortable physically.”

“You talked to Luna about pregnancy?” she asked, surprised.

“Of course I did,” he answered. “She’s been through two of them. I wanted to know what I could do to help.” He paused, then laughed. “Although it is a bit ironic that I’m following Weasley’s lead on anything,” he added, gesturing at the bathtub and his soapy hands.

“You are just the most adorable thing,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him again.

“Excuse me, madam,” he sniffed, pulling back from her in mock affront. “I have not been _adorable_ a day in my life.”

She smiled, leaning back in the tub. “Oh yes, I’m so sorry. I obviously meant _cute._ ”

He stood, heaving a dramatic sigh. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

As he moved to leave the room, trying to hide the smile on his face, she grabbed his arm. “Draco,” she said, and now her voice was serious. Husky.

He froze, looking back at her over his shoulder, pupils dilating with lust.

She arched her back, swollen breasts bobbing above the water as she ran her free hand over them.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice strained.

“Why not?” she pouted prettily, letting her hand drift lower, over her belly and down to rest between her legs. She let her head fall back against the edge of the bathtub as her fingers slipped between her folds, gasping softly.

“Unless you want me in that tub with you, you need to stop,” he choked out.

“But I do want you in here with me,” she said, pulling his arm under the water so his fingers could take the place of hers. “Right now,” she demanded, eyes hot and voice fierce.

“As you wish,” he said, before seizing her lips in a hungry kiss.

His fingers dove between her legs, immediately finding that magical spot inside her like only he could, sending shockwaves of electricity through her body as his mouth devoured hers. She pulled at his shirt, pushing it down his arms until he had to retrieve his hand to remove it completely. She grieved at the loss of his fingers, but practically salivated as he stood, quickly removing his trousers and boxer briefs to stand gloriously naked in front of her.

Her position in the bath put her at the perfect height to appreciate his cock, which bobbed in front of her face. She reached out one slippery hand and grasped it, pumping it a few times before he stepped out of her reach with a laughing shake of his head.

“No, love,” he said, then stepped into the tub, sinking down behind her and arranging her so she was leaning back against his chest. She felt his erection pressing hard into her back, and squirmed in anticipation. The anticipation ratcheted higher when she felt his hands sliding over her skin, as now his touch was not gentle and soothing, but sensual and arousing.

He slid his hands over her breasts; massaging, feeling their weight in his palms, gently pinching her nipples until she was sure she would come from his touch alone. 

They traveled over her stomach, stretched and swollen with their child, then lower to massage her hips, her thighs, to move over her knees and down her calves before returning to where she most wanted his touch.

But rather than merely touching her with his fingers, he grasped her hips in both hands, lifting her up and back so she was sitting in his lap, his straining cock nestled between her thighs. Delighted, she reached down to grasp her prize, but had trouble seeing it over the swell of her belly. Before she could figure out how to solve this problem, Draco began thrusting against her, pushing up between her legs and against her folds, helping her lay her head back against his shoulder as he bumped into her clit.

She keened, needing more friction, and Draco understood; he grasped her thighs and spread her legs wide, lifting her the extra bit necessary to impale her on his cock. They both gasped as he sank all the way inside her, her arse snug against his lap, his hands coming up to grasp her breasts once more, anchoring himself as he began to move.

Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as they worked their way up to a steady rhythm, Hermione crying out with every thrust, Draco moaning unintelligibly into her ear as his hips snapped under her.

She sobbed, desperate for release, and he understood immediately—dropping one hand down to firmly rub her clit. One, two, three passes was all it took to have her shattering, arching her back and crying out, feeling him come inside her mere seconds later.

They sat there, the waves in the bathtub calming as their breathing gentled and heart rates slowed. Draco slipped out of Hermione, standing to drain the bath and turn on the water in the shower, pulling her up and leading her carefully into the warm spray. 

He let her hair down, washing it gently with her favorite shampoo and carefully combing his fingers through it with her conditioner. She returned the favor, washing and conditioning the pale strands of his hair and then soaping his skin, bringing him to orgasm again with her hand when his body reacted to her touch. 

Not to be outdone, he turned off the water, wrapping them both in fluffy towels before leading her to their bed, laying her out on the soft sheets and then worshiping her body with his mouth, making her come over and over before taking her one last time, gently and slowly, his body curled around hers from behind as he thrust into her wet warmth. 

When they both came this time, they did so with gasps and whispers instead of screams, with the release of years of pent-up longing, yearning, wishing, hoping. Hermione wept at the love she felt for him, at the good fortune she had found as his wife, at the gift of life inside of her that she had never planned for, but accepted gladly. She turned her head, finding Draco’s lips with her own, knowing without him having to say anything that he was feeling all the same emotions.

“I love you, Draco,” she whispered.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered back.

Sated at last, they slept.

*****

Despite the domestic bliss they experienced at home and the safe haven that existed among their group of friends, reality still had an unfortunate way of creeping in.

If they went out to dinner, there were one or two other patrons who shot them dirty looks or whispered as they walked by.

If they visited a shop to purchase nursery furniture or baby items, they inevitably encountered at least one bold witch or wizard who felt it necessary to make a snide comment about the recency of their marriage and the advanced stage of her pregnancy. They were effectively banned from one such shop after Hermione had unleashed a stinging hex on a witch whom she overheard questioning whether or not their baby would be born with a Dark Mark. 

Most of Hermione’s co-workers had been won over by Draco’s charisma and friendly conversation. Yet there were still many witches and wizards from other Ministry departments who acted scandalized if they were forced to share a lift with Hermione, as if pregnancy was contagious. _Wouldn’t be surprised if you've knocked up a few mistresses, bloody hypocrite,_ she thought at one such portly wizard, glaring at the back of his head as he pretended she didn’t exist. 

But all of this was nothing compared to the Daily Prophet articles, which became a daily source of frustration for Hermione.

“That _bitch!_ ” Hermione screeched one morning, rattling the dishes on the breakfast table as she slammed her hand down, fist clenched around the Rita Skeeter article she had been reading.

Draco looked up from the book he was reading, brow arched at his wife’s outburst. “Something wrong, my dove?” he asked ironically.

Hermione pushed the paper over to him, fuming.

_**Golden Girl or Gold Digger?** _

_Never one to shy away from using her wiles in order to catch a wealthy man, the new Mrs. Malfoy has proven that some things never change. Close sources to the “couple” say that they saw clever Miss Granger slip a highly-concentrated form of Amortentia into Mr. Malfoy’s fire whiskey at the wedding of Pansy Parkinson Longbottom and her rather disappointing husband, Melville._

_Due to the potion’s effects, Mr. Malfoy soon became so intoxicated that he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between Miss Granger and The Dark Lord himself. Luckily for her, he was unable to prevent their indiscretion, and she is now playing lady of the manor at one of the largest wizarding homes in London._

_One wonders how many children she will pop out after this one to secure her place in Mr. Malfoy’s life—not to mention his Gringotts vault._

_And as for dear Draco, this author can’t know for sure, but sources say that he has been seen gallivanting about town late at night with none other than the chosen one himself: Harry Potter. Did all those years of fighting on opposite sides of a war serve as foreplay for a forbidden romance?_

_As you know, dear reader, Rita Skeeter will stop at nothing to find out the truth—and report it to you._

Draco sighed deeply, looking at Hermione over the top of the paper. “Well, I’m sorry you had to find out about Harry and me this way,” he joked, ducking when a scone came sailing through the air at his head.

“She accused me of drugging and raping you, Draco,” Hermione seethed, voice deadly calm. 

He set the paper down, reaching over to take her hands. “Yes, she did. And I will have a word with her about that. Maybe drop the names of a few of my new friends in your office who specialize in cases of defamation and slander,” he added casually, as though the thought had just occurred to him. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm her raging emotions. “What if people believe it?” she whispered hoarsely. 

Draco sighed once more, letting go of her hands to cup her cheeks. “Then they’re idiots,” he answered. “Anyone who has ever been in the same room as you and I knows that I’m mad for you; no Amortentia necessary.”

An angry tear slid down her cheek, and he caught it with the tip of his thumb. “None of this, Granger,” he said gently. “I’ll take care of it.” 

The next morning, Hermione was hesitant to read the paper, but Draco insisted. She took it from his hands, and immediately forgot about the food on her plate or the coffee in her cup.

The entire front page of the Daily Prophet was dedicated to her. But instead of the hateful writing of Rita Skeeter, there were dozens of testimonials about her, written by her friends, co-workers, former school mates, Hogwarts professors, and even the Minister of Magic himself. All spoke of her good character, sharp intellect, and kind heart. In the middle of all these was a letter from Draco himself.

 _My darling Granger,_ it read. _I have loved and admired you for years. I am the luckiest wizard alive to have finally won your heart and your hand. Please let this very public declaration of my feelings put any doubts about our relationship to rest. I don’t deserve you by any stretch of the imagination, but I hope you will let me keep you forever. Your loving husband, Draco_

At the very bottom of the page was a printed notice from the Daily Prophet’s editors that Rita Skeeter was facing disciplinary action for her recent inflammatory reporting on Hermione Granger-Malfoy and her husband, which had been harmful gossip at best and libelous slander at worst. An apology followed thereafter. 

Hermione looked up at Draco, not sure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, or do both at the same time. “I have never found you sexier than I do _right now,_ ” she said, and he grinned proudly. 

“You’re not the only one who can defend a person that has been unfairly attacked,” he said with a casual shrug. 

“My lion,” she purred, grabbing the lapels of his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss. 

He stopped her with a finger to her lips, brows scrunched in distaste. “Hang on, Granger. I am quite obviously a cobra.”

She rolled her eyes and kissed him anyway, and smiled as he whispered against her lips: “ _Fuck_ Rita Skeeter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/persephonestone) and [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/persephonestone2/)!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who have taken the time to read, leave kudos, and write comments. I have really enjoyed the experience of writing this fic, but my favorite part by far was reading all your lovely words! I sincerely hope you've enjoyed the story.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://persephonestone.tumblr.com/) and [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/persephonestone2/).

The last month of Hermione’s pregnancy was both the longest and shortest month of her life. She and Draco spent most of the time preparing the nursery and trying to agree on a name for their baby. 

“Martin?” she began, offering up her favorite grandfather’s name as they took afternoon tea in the library. 

“Martin Malfoy? _‘Marty’_ Malfoy?” Draco repeated, shuddering in not-so-mock horror. “No. How about Aquarius? You know that it’s a Black family tradition to name children after constellations.”

She wrinkled her nose, opposed to the name if not the tradition. 

“Capricornus?” he suggested next. 

“What even is that, Draco?”

“Um, a goat?” he replied with a grimace. 

“Oh, so ‘Martin’ is out but you want to name our son ‘Goat’?” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. Let’s discuss girl’s names. After all, we don’t know that we’re having a boy.”

She grumbled into her teacup, feeling a bit cranky. “Oh, I’m sure it’s a boy. Only a man would keep me awake all night by kicking me in the ribs.”

Draco wisely ignored that, instead suggesting what he thought was a rather nice name: Cassiopeia. 

Hermione thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll allow it. As a possibility,” she added, raising a finger at his smug look. “Do we have to do a constellation name, though?” she asked after a few more sips of tea. 

“Well, no,” Draco replied. “Not necessarily. I think it’s quite a nice tradition, but maybe we could start our own. We’ve certainly done that in plenty of other ways,” he admitted. 

They both sat in companionable silence, until Draco reached over to hold Hermione’s hand. 

“We’ll know the right name when we meet her,” he said, kissing her palm. 

“Him,” she countered, but she lifted their joined hands to press her own kiss to his skin. 

The sound of the floo roaring to life in the next room interrupted their musings. A moment later, Narcissa waltzed into the library. 

“Hello, my darling!” Narcissa cried, striding right past Draco’s open arms to wrap Hermione in her floral-scented embrace. “Hello, Draco,” she added over her shoulder, arms still around her daughter-in-law. 

“Mother,” Draco replied with a roll of his eyes. 

Narcissa pulled them both into the foyer, where her army of house elves were unloading all sorts of baby paraphernalia. An expensive looking pram, a stuffed dragon the size of a small pony, a bassinet to keep beside their bed and another one for downstairs—”For naps! You can’t climb these stairs holding a sleeping baby!” Narcissa scolded—boxes and boxes of nappies and baby wipes, burp cloths and bibs and blankets in every pattern one could imagine, and even an infant safety seat, which Narcissa was completely mystified by but which she assured Draco they would need if they ever bought a muggle car.

As Draco directed the elves on where to put the department store’s worth of gifts Narcissa had purchased, Narcissa pulled Hermione aside. “I also bought this for you,” she said, gesturing at a discreet black bag. “It’s something called a—” she looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice, as if she was about to say something truly scandalous, “ _a breast pump._ ” Her eyes widened, and Hermione had to bite her cheek to stop her laughter. 

“Apparently,” Narcissa continued, “many muggle women use them when they go back to work, so they can continue breastfeeding. I’ve never worked,” she said with a shrug, “but I know how important your job is to you. So this is for when you’re ready to return to it,” she finished, dropping her gaze self-consciously.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “Thank you so much, Narcissa,” she said, pulling her mother-in-law into another hug. Narcissa squeezed her tightly, rubbing Hermione’s back with one fine-boned hand. “That was so kind of you.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” Narcissa said, stepping back and taking both of Hermione’s hands in hers. She paused, seeming to have an internal debate with herself before pressing on bravely. “You know,” she added, “I never thanked you.”

“Thanked me?” Hermione responded.

Narcissa nodded, blinking quickly, lower lip trembling for a moment before she regained control of her facial features. “Yes. You know, after the war, when Lucius was put in Azkaban and Draco and I were trying to find our way, you were there. You, who had every reason to turn your back on us, reached out and helped us. We didn’t deserve it then, but I thank Merlin every single day that you did it anyway.” She raised Hermione’s hands to her lips, pressing a fierce kiss to them.

“Narcissa—” Hermione began, emotion thickening her voice and preventing further words from escaping.

Narcissa shook her head, smiling. “I knew that Draco was in love with you long before he did. He talked about you constantly; about the things you taught him, about something funny you’d said, about how it drove him crazy that you were dating so-and-so when they were obviously an idiot,” she stopped to laugh, then continued. “I was able to watch him become the man he was always meant to be. And I know he couldn’t have done that without your help. So again, thank you Hermione. From the bottom of my heart. For my son, for my grandchild, and for me.”

Hermione was crying freely now, and when Narcissa opened her arms to her once more, she fell into them gladly.

This was how Draco found them, crying and hugging and laughing in the middle of their foyer.

“Um…” he said, glancing around, feeling confused and a little afraid.

“It’s alright, darling,” Narcissa said, releasing Hermione; pressing one more kiss to her cheek before turning to embrace Draco. “I love you, my son,” she said, and then was gone, disappearing back through the floo in a whirl of ice blue silk.

Their next visitors came a few hours later, when Theo and Val flooed in to help them put together some nursery furniture the muggle way, for old time’s sake. Without the use of magic, it was a complicated process, one which Hermione enjoyed from the comfort of a plush rocking chair in the corner of the nursery, reading a book about postpartum self-care. Val sat at her feet, using her wand to fold and put away the newly-washed baby clothes from Narcissa.

This left Draco and Theo to argue over what the directions _meant_ , exactly, when they said a certain type of screw went in a place it obviously didn’t fit, or why anyone in their right mind would ever attempt this without the use of magic.

“Muggles do this all the time,” Hermione reminded them gently, feeling nostalgic as she watched her two former pupils perform a thoroughly muggle rite of passage.

“Well they’re idiots, then,” Draco grumbled.

“How dare you, sir!” Theo gasped, turning to a laughing Hermione and Val. “I must apologize for my friend’s language. He didn’t mean that. Muggles are obviously creatures of great intelligence, as evidenced by our dearest, loveliest Hermione. And also Beyonce. I mean, how catchy is that ‘Single Ladies’ song, right Val?”

Val reached up to pat Theo’s cheek fondly, and Hermione smiled at the pair. In the almost two months that had passed since Val had decided to stay in England, she had been hired on in Hermione’s department of the DMLE and spent every moment that she wasn’t working with Theo. Hermione had never seen Theo more relaxed or at peace than he was now. Val seemed to be a perfect match for him: smart enough to keep up with him, tough enough to challenge him, and sweet enough to shower him with the love and affection he had never received from his abusive father.

He leaned into her touch, stealing a kiss before turning, waving his wand at the whole mess of wood and bolts to quickly assemble the changing table they’d been working on. 

Draco shot him a look that was part horror and part sheer joy.

“You’re welcome,” Theo said, clapping his friend on the back. “You gave it a valiant effort, but your energy is best spent elsewhere, my friend.”

Theo was right, of course, as he’d been right about so many other things in Hermione and Draco’s lives. Two nights later, after an extremely normal night of dinner, a few re-runs of Buffy— _I mean honestly, Granger, every episode on the telly should be a musical episode_ —and a slow, thorough shag, Hermione’s water broke in the middle of the night.

Draco panicked, running through their house and throwing random objects into a carry-all, even though Hermione had packed a bag for both of them several weeks earlier, which had lived next to the floo for almost as long. While he nervously rummaged in the refrigerator— _Can you eat during labor? Should I pack us some crisps? I’ll just pop a few bottles of gilly water in that bag of yours in case we get thirsty_ —Hermione calmly owled both Narcissa and her parents. She then wrote another letter to Harry and Daphne, letting them know she was in labor, to please alert all their other friends, and that she or Draco would be in touch after the baby was born. She spoke with Poppy to make sure the cats would be taken care of while they were in hospital as Draco held Hades and Zeus, weepily letting them know they were about to become big brothers.

And then, just as her contractions started to come closer together and edge toward painful, she grabbed a babbling Draco by the collar of his shirt— _Granger, I have to run to the library! I forgot my book about the use of charms to help with labor pains!_ —and pulled him through the floo to St. Mungo’s.

Six hours later, after a great deal of groaning, yelling, crying, and fainting—and that was just from Draco—the Healer midwife laid a howling baby on Hermione’s sweaty chest. 

“Congratulations, mummy. It’s a boy!”

*****

It seemed obvious that the birth of a new witch or wizard would have its fair share of magic. But there was a special kind of magic here. It was the soft, late February sunshine that filtered through the curtains of their hospital room. It was the happy, awestruck tears that fell from the eyes of the new parents as they looked at the life they had created. It was the pale blonde hair, softer than silk, that covered their newborn son’s head. It was the smell of his skin; that perfect baby smell no potion could replicate.

Draco cradled his son in his arms, rocking him gently in a chair at Hermione’s bedside, humming a lullaby that he remembered his mother singing to him as a boy. Hermione was fast asleep in the bed, curled onto her side with her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her mouth was open and she was snoring softly, but she had never seemed more beautiful to Draco than at that moment, especially after what he had witnessed her endure to safely deliver their son. He knew she was a brave, strong witch—there was a reason she had ended up in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw, after all—but he had never seen anything as awe-inspiring as Hermione Granger-Malfoy giving birth.

“We are lucky boys,” he whispered to his as-yet-unnamed son, brushing a finger over the tiny pink cupid’s bow of his lips. “And you, my son, will be the most loved Malfoy in the entire history of the family. Your mummy and I will take care of you, and teach you everything, and love you no matter what. Even if you end up being a squib...or worse, a Hufflepuff,” he teased.

Young master Malfoy responded to his father’s joking yet heartfelt words with a huge yawn, squirming in his blankets and making soft snorting noises as he started to fuss.

“Are you hungry again, my love?” Draco said softly. “Mummy needs her sleep. Can you wait just a bit longer?” 

“I’m awake,” Hermione’s soft voice came from beside him, and Draco raised his head to find her sitting up, watching him with a tender smile. She beckoned for their son, tilting her chin up to kiss Draco as he placed the baby in her arms and helped her arrange her clothing so she could nurse him.

“Any thoughts on names?” Hermione asked after a moment, meeting Draco’s gaze.

“Well now that you mention it, yes,” he replied with a serious nod. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that very thing.”

“Go on then,” she responded, nodding back.

“Well,” he began. “His mother is a fierce lioness; has been all her life. And then he came out roaring like a lion, letting every Healer in the building know that his father would hear about how he’d been rudely evicted from his nice, warm home.” He huffed out a laugh at his self-deprecating joke, and Hermione grinned at him.

Draco rubbed his jaw, looking down at his son. “And I know we talked about not using constellation names, but I think this one is rather fitting. How about—”

“Leo,” Hermione said, cutting him off. 

Draco blinked, then flashed a blinding smile at his clever wife. “Leo,” he agreed. 

“It’s perfect,” Hermione said. “And I was going to suggest, for his middle name...how about Lucius? After his father’s father.”

“Leo Lucius,” Draco agreed, voice thick with tears. “Perfect, indeed.”

*****

Leo Lucius Malfoy was, as Draco had predicted, the most well-loved Malfoy in living memory. He was welcomed home from the hospital by all of his grandparents, all of his honorary aunts and uncles and cousins, and all of the Malfoy family house elves, who had—despite Hermione reminding them that no, the baby could not eat real food for several months—insisted on serving a feast that would have fed them all for a week. 

Their family and friends got the new parents settled in the living room and brought them plates of food, gathering around them to eat and talk, to and laugh and cry. The grandparents all took turns holding Leo while Hermione and Draco ate, only relinquishing him when he began to cry lustily for his mother. 

Hermione nursed her newborn son, her handsome husband’s arm around her shoulders as they sat together in the warmth and comfort of their home, surrounded by the people they loved most in the world. 

She marveled at how different her life looked from a mere year ago. She had loved Draco then, but had been too afraid to do anything about it. 

And then one night, full of dancing and magic and whispered confessions underneath the stars that her husband and son were named for, Hermione had taken a chance. And gotten everything she had never even known that she wanted. She couldn’t wait to see what came next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, dear readers!
> 
> And don't worry, I have an epilogue/part 2 in the works...you didn't think I'd leave you hanging on Harry & Daphne's wedding, now did you?!


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